


Dear Old Friend (maybe more, maybe less)

by easybeak



Series: Dear Old Friend (and other stories) [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac Bucky Barnes, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes and the 21st Century, Bucky Barnes crushes on everyone, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes's Notebooks, Bucky Barnes's Trigger Words, Bucky thinks Steve is an asshole, Coming Out, Communication, Cooking, Dinner dates, Domestic Avengers, First Dates, Fluff, Food, Friends to Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Internalized Homophobia, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) is a Good Bro, M/M, Misunderstandings, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Phone Calls, Post-Avengers (2012), Protective Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Protective Steve Rogers, Recovering!Bucky Barnes, Repressed Feelings, Rescued!Bucky Barnes, Restaurants, SHIELD, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, Stark Tower, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Touch-Starved Bucky Barnes, accidentally wrote a twelve page outline for this fic whoops, and nightmares, bad memories, bisexual disaster Bucky Barnes, chapter titles, domestic stucky (kinda), everybody's a good bro tbh, steve and bucky figure out the future together, the avengers have dinner parties and that is Final
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2020-06-04 06:19:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 78,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easybeak/pseuds/easybeak
Summary: Steve was still thinking, hardly paying attention to Bucky or anything else around him. He nearly missed it at first, when his eyelids started to flutter, and the heart monitor picked up and he turned his head to look at him, his blue eyes squinting in the bright sunlight.Bucky took a breath, swallowed, and said five words that felt as though he’d torn Steve’s heart out and stomped on it.“Who the hell are you?”Steve Rogers receives news from an unexpected source that his best friend, Bucky Barnes, is alive. Armed with this new knowledge, he sets out to find him. When he does, however, he is a shell of his former self and far from what Steve remembers.Bucky struggles to recover himself as he starts to remember where he came from and who he was before HYDRA. As he adjusts to the reality of the twenty-first century, he discovers new parts of himself, and he sees Steve in an entirely new light. They grow to be as close as they were before. Steve is just the way he used to be, to Bucky’s relief. He does what he can to help, even though with every bad turn it seems like he’ll only be able to take so much.Unfortunately, Steve may not be what he seems after all.





	1. Who the Hell is Steve Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my second fic.  
> I don't wanna say a whole lot right now but I do want to tell you that I plan on writing about PTSD/trauma, and while, yes, this is just fanfiction, I intend to do it respectfully- no 'uwu romantic love confession it's all better now' bs. I hate that.  
> That being said, if I'm writing some part of it inaccurately and you feel comfortable pointing it out to me so that I can fix it, please do! I'll do my best to try and figure out how to change it. 
> 
> I've learned a bit from my last fic, so let's see if I can do better this time.
> 
> Edit: This work is now a series! I've started adding short stories (thank you to @lily_blythe for the idea!) and I recommend that you check it out. I'll also take suggestions for future updates on either work here, or in the comments on the short stories. I really love reading you guys' input and getting to talk to you and I would not have made it this far without you!
> 
> Happy reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is my second fic.  
> I don't wanna say a whole lot right now but I do want to tell you that I plan on writing about PTSD/trauma, and while, yes, this is just fanfiction, I intend to do it respectfully- no 'uwu romantic love confession it's all better now' bs. I hate that.  
> That being said, if I'm writing some part of it inaccurately and you feel comfortable pointing it out to me so that I can fix it, please do! I'll do my best to try and figure out how to change it. 
> 
> I've learned a bit from my last fic, so let's see if I can do better this time.

**New York, 2012**

_ He’s stable now. You can come and see him.  _

Steve had been waiting for that text all day. He jumped slightly when his phone finally went off, almost knocking it off the table in his haste to look at the message that had just come through. 

_ I’ll be right over _ , he replied, already out of his chair and on his way out the door. 

The text had been from Dr. Helen Cho, about an old friend of his, Bucky Barnes. What had happened to him between now and the 1940’s was a long and complicated story—one that no one but Bucky knew in its entirety yet. 

All they knew about where he’d been was that they’d found him in a HYDRA facility. The rescue team hadn’t had much time to poke around and look for more intel after that.

He was excited, and more than that, he was  _ thrilled,  _ but he was also terrified out of his wits for Bucky. He just hoped that he was really as okay as Dr. Cho had said. He’d been in rough shape when the team had found him, and that had been only two days ago. He hadn’t even been allowed to see him yet. 

He didn’t even have his jacket all the way on before he was out the door, almost running down the hall in his haste to get to the tower, which was nearly half an hour away. He wondered, briefly, if he was in any danger of having a heart attack while he sat in traffic. 

But he made it safely, and in well under twenty minutes, a feat that was downright impressive given the time of day and the traffic. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he made his way through the building and took the elevator up to the sixth floor, which housed the medical facility. 

One of Dr. Cho’s assistants was there waiting for him, holding a tablet in one hand and twirling what appeared to be a pen in the other. “Captain Rogers,” he said. “Right this way, sir.” 

He turned around and headed down the hall without even waiting for a reply. 

Steve’s anxiety mounted as he followed him down the hall. Bucky was  _ here _ , in the hospital! He’d hardly gotten used to the possibility hat he was alive, and now that he was really here, and he was going to see him… it was almost too much to bear. 

The assistant stopped abruptly, and so did Steve, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried not to run into him. The man seemed unbothered, calmly opening a door to their left and gesturing for Steve to go inside. 

“He’s still unconscious. Try not to wake him, but take as much time as you need. You can use Jarvis to call if you need anything.” 

Steve nodded mutely and went inside. The door closed behind him. 

Bucky was lying in a hospital bed. It looked like a typical hospital room—there was the bed, of course, surrounded by an array of medical equipment, the heart monitor, which beeped slowly and steadily, the sterile, white-painted walls, the cold, tiled floor… and Bucky himself. 

Steve stood there just inside the door for a moment, looking at him. He didn’t look  _ real _ . He was vastly different from the man he remembered. He was gaunt, his skin pale and gray and almost translucent. There was a line of stitches running up across his forehead and disappearing into his hair, which was long, and looked tangled and unwashed. 

There was a chair beside the bed. He walked over, slowly and carefully, and sat down. 

He hadn’t thought any further than this point. He’d thought that Bucky would be awake, at least, but even if he was, what would he say to him? Dr. Cho had had her doubts that he would even recognize him. 

He sighed, and, not knowing what else to do, he started talking. 

“I missed you, you know. While you were gone. I thought you were dead. Hadn’t moved on, either, really… you were a hard person to lose, Buck. I wish I’d had you, when I woke up this century.

“But that’s not fair to you, because then you’d had to have looked after me and all that.” He laughed softly. “I mean… just like old times, I guess, but you don’t deserve that. You never did. Wasn’t fair to make you take care of me when I was sick or clean me up after all those fights. I’m sorry about that—but maybe I can make it up to you now. Because whether you want it or not, you’re going to need help getting used to things here, once you wake up.” 

That was if he woke up at all. But he pushed that thought aside. He was supposed to be spending time with his old friend, no need to make anything morbid of it. Or not any more morbid than it already was. 

“I want you to wake up, Buck,” he said. “Please, please wake up.” He fell silent for a moment, looking over at his friend. 

He could still hardly believe that he was seeing him, let alone talking to him—even if he wasn’t exactly talking back. He’d received the news less than six months ago, during the Battle of New York, and in such a strange fashion that he hadn’t believed that it was real at first. But once he’d determined that somehow, this wasn’t another cruel trick of Loki’s, and that Bucky really  _ was  _ alive, he set out to find him. That hadn’t taken long—hardly more than three months, but to him it had been agonizingly slow. Once he’d found him and talked the rest of the team into helping him with the rescue mission, there had been nothing left to do except wait and prepare for it. 

He hadn’t prepared enough. Nothing could have prepared him for this, the sight of his best friend, back from the dead and lying in a hospital bed, and that god-awful metal arm with the red star painted on it like a brand and the scarred up skin where it connected to his shoulder. No one had told him about  _ that.  _ He tried not to look at it. He’d deal with that after Bucky woke up. 

Hell, he hadn’t even been there for the rescue mission. He’d spent so much time training the week before the mission that he’d hurt himself—he’d ripped some tendon in his arm, the doctor had said. It made him ineligible for the mission, which left the other five Avengers to carry it out without him. He was still angry at himself for that. 

He’d  _ always  _ be angry at himself for that—it seemed to be an ongoing theme for him. Whenever Bucky needed him, he couldn’t seem to be there. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Buck. I’ll do better this time around, okay? I’m gonna be here for you this time.” He sighed. 

He didn’t know how to  _ do  _ that. It had always been the other way around, Bucky taking care of him. He’d even promised to stick around with him until the end of the line… which was so  _ sweet _ and so perfect that it hurt to think about, sometimes. 

“This isn’t going to be easy, is it,” he said to himself, resigned. 

But even though he’d never made the promise out loud, he intended to stick around, too. He owed it to him, and besides, what else was he supposed to do? 

He’d drifted off into thought, all about Bucky and what would happen when he woke up. There was a lot to think about—Steve was, well… decently established in this century. Bucky would need help. He could easily support the two of them, but would Bucky want a job…? There would be so much to ask him about when he woke up. 

Steve was still thinking, hardly paying attention to Bucky or anything else around him. He nearly missed it at first, when his eyelids started to flutter, but then the heart monitor picked up and he turned his head to look at him, his blue eyes squinting in the bright sunlight. 

Bucky took a breath, swallowed, and said five words that felt as though he’d torn Steve’s heart out and stomped on it. 

“Who the hell are you?” 


	2. The Winter Soldier

The man in the chair by the bed was struggling to explain himself. He had such a pained look on his face that he almost felt bad for him. “I’m — I’m Steve Rogers, I guess you don’t… don’t remember?” 

“No,” he said shortly. 

Something about this man already seemed strange. He had a soft, kind sort of face — there was nothing hard or cold or mean about him. There was nothing weird about that, but he wasn’t inclined to trust it, either.

“Rogers?” He repeated.

For whatever reason, the name made Rogers wince again. “Yeah. That’s me. How d’you feel, Bucky?” 

“Bucky?” 

Rogers sighed, a somewhat defeated look on his face. He supposed he wasn’t meant to ask questions, but he didn’t seem _angry._ “Yeah. Bucky. That’s your name, isn’t it?” 

He hadn’t been aware that it was his name. “Bucky,” he said, trying it out for himself. He nodded — that was all right with him. Even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t have argued. Rogers looked very, very powerful and he didn’t know if he’d be able to defend himself if he got angry with him. It was weird, though, having a name. He couldn’t decide if he liked it or not. 

“Yeah.” Rogers nodded. “Do you feel okay?”

He was a little thrown off by the concern in his voice. “I’m fine,” he said quickly. He couldn’t figure out what other answer he might want. 

“You don’t look fine.”

“My… my head hurts.” He didn’t like how vulnerable that statement made him, but Rogers had asked. It wouldn’t do not to tell. A lot of other things hurt, too, but if Rogers really wanted to, he could figure that out on his own. 

“I can see about getting you some pain meds,” he suggested. 

The concept of pain medication was weird and foreign to him, too. He’d been about to ask what he meant when the door at the end of the room opened and two people came in. Rogers turned around, as if he’d been startled by the noise. 

“Dr. Cho,” he said quickly, getting up from his chair and looking anxiously towards the pair of them. “Is something wrong?”

Bucky didn’t understand why he was so worried. If something _was_ wrong, it was the doctors’ concern, not his. They’d fix it and then they could move on with whatever was supposed to happen next. He watched them warily, wondering what they were going to do. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dr. Cho said, waving away the question. “Dr. Perrian saw that Barnes was awake and we came to check in on him, that’s all.” 

“Oh.” 

Rogers sat back down as the other doctor, presumably Dr. Perrian, went to check Bucky’s vitals. He sat still for him, not wanting to cause trouble, even though his head spun when he tried to help him sit up. 

Getting to lie back down was a relief. Rogers was still talking to the doctors, and Dr. Perrian was entering something into a tablet. He hoped it was nothing bad. 

“We’ve already gathered quite a bit of data,” Dr. Cho was saying. “From the scans we did, and from the exam after the rescue.”

 _Rescue?_ What the hell did that mean?

Dr. Perrian tapped away at the tablet in his hands. “His vitals look… surprisingly normal. For a super-soldier, anyway. We’re lucky we have you for reference, Cap.”

Rogers nodded absently.

Bucky, meanwhile, was growing more and more confused by the minute. His head ached and throbbed and the bright lights in the room — combined with the sunlight streaming in through the open window — hurt his eyes. He closed them, resting his head on the pillow. It was soft, which was nice. At least his bed was comfortable. 

He didn’t even want to listen to what Rogers and the doctors were talking about. Super-soldiers and a “rescue,” whatever that meant… it was just making his head hurt more. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t care, about where he was or about who these people were. It didn’t matter. 

He’d nearly fallen asleep again when, a few minutes later, he heard a soft voice next to his ear. “Bucky.” It was Rogers. “Come on, I know you’re awake. You gotta sit up. They wanna do a medical exam, but it’ll be quick, I promise.” There was a warm hand on his shoulder. 

He opened his eyes and looked over to see who it was, and, unsurprisingly, it was Rogers. He was remarkably gentle — it was a little disturbing. He closed his eyes again, trying to turn away. 

“Come on,” Rogers encouraged. “It’s only going to take a minute and then you can go back to sleep.”

He sighed, opening his eyes again. He wondered why Rogers was being so patient with him. He didn’t have any reason not to accept it, but it seemed… fake. Like he’d want something in exchange for his kindness. Why _wouldn’t_ he?

Maybe he should just appreciate the gesture, he decided, as he helped him sit up.

Dr. Cho and Dr. Perrian both stood next to the bed. They crowded him a little, but he tried not to notice. 

“As Dr. Perrian said, your vitals look normal,” Dr. Cho started off. “Your heart rate and blood pressure are both a little high, but after what you’ve been through, it isn’t at all surprising.”

Bucky already wasn’t listening. She was talking to him, but surely this was directed towards Rogers. He seemed to be the one in charge here, even if he behaved a little strangely. He’d take care of him, one way or another.

“Your medical report, however, is a different story.” She leaned over and took the tablet from Dr. Perrian, who promptly busied himself with the IV stand by the bed. “You have signs of serious trauma from both before and during your rescue, which will take time to heal, I’m afraid. We’ll talk about it in more detail later, once you’ve recovered a little more. But for now… that gash on your forehead is healing up well, I see. The stitches will dissolve on their own, so there’s no need to worry about taking them out. I want to look at your shoulder and your collarbone, if that’s all right?”

She did seem to be genuinely asking him for permission. He nodded, just in case. That was, apparently, what she wanted, because she moved around to the other side of the bed to prod at his left shoulder. It hurt, and he winced. 

“Sorry,” she said softly. 

“What happened to my collarbone?” He asked.

“Fractured,” she said. “It was like that when they found you, allegedly.” She gently pulled the neckline of his hospital gown out of the way and looked down at it. Whatever she found there seemed to be to her satisfaction. 

He turned his head and glanced over at Steve, who had been watching all this from the other side of the bed. His gaze was locked on Dr. Cho, his eyes wide and anxious. 

“It’s doing better,” she was saying. “I did a minor surgery on it to repair the break and it should heal in… well, a few days. It’s harder to say when it comes to people like you, but it’s coming along well and I’ll keep checking in on it. Your shoulder, though…” she sighed. “It’s a different story.” 

“What do you mean?” Steve’s voice was tight and sounded carefully controlled. 

“It’s been through a lot. There’s so much scar tissue that it’ll be hard to work with, and it’s extraordinarily heavy and unbalanced. I’ve had someone look at the scans we took. He’s… still working on it. He thinks he can improve the design and make it easier on you.”

Bucky nodded. That sounded like a good offer — a flash of pain went through his shoulder as Dr. Cho mentioned it. He couldn’t remember it _not_ hurting. “If — if you don’t mind,” he said softly. It sounded like a lot of work, just for him. “I’d… I’d like that.”

“He’s working on it,” she promised. “He’s the best there is. If anyone can do it, he can.”

He hoped so. Even lying down, it was heavy and uncomfortable. He couldn’t imagine what trying to walk around and use it properly must be like. He didn’t want to find out. 

“As I said, we can talk about it more once you’ve recovered a little.” She handed the tablet back to Dr. Perrian, who had been standing there beside the IV stand and listening in on the conversation. “But I did have one more question. Your scans showed signs of head injuries, and I did want to know, has it affected your memory at all?” 

“My… my memory?” He repeated. 

Steve drew in a breath beside him. He could almost feel how tense he was, as if his anxiety affected the rest of the room, too. 

“Yes, your memory,” she said, looking a little nervous now. “Do you remember anything before waking up here?”

He hadn’t considered it until now. He hadn’t cared, and he still didn’t, really. What did it matter, if he was at these people’s mercy? They wouldn’t care where he’d been before. Or… well, they did. 

“No,” he said softly. But that wasn’t true. He did remember — nothing big. Just somewhere dark and very cold and snowy, and somewhere else, too: a prison cell, but not exactly. Not quite a prison cell. There was a metal chair in the middle of it, and a man’s voice — “No,” he repeated firmly. “I don’t remember anything.” 

His good hand trembled a little and he clutched at the blanket on the bed, trying to make it stop. Someone’s hand touched his arm. Rogers. 

“It’s okay, Buck,” he said. His voice was about as soft and gentle as Bucky had ever heard. It was… nice. “It’s not permanent.” But he couldn’t hide the way he looked up at Dr. Cho for confirmation. 

“No, it’s not permanent,” she agreed. “It’ll heal just like everything else, although it might take a little more work. You’ll be all right.” 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to remember any more than those vague little bits and pieces, actually, but he nodded anyway. He didn’t want to upset these people. 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Okay.” 

Rogers let go of his arm and sat back in his seat. 

Dr. Cho and Dr. Perrian looked at one another, then considered Bucky. “That’s all we wanted to address for now,” Dr. Cho said, taking a step back from the bed. “Unless you have anything you want to ask us? We’ll still be available, of course. The nurse call button is right here.” She pointed out a little button hanging from the IV stand. 

Bucky shook his head. “Can’t think of anything.”

There were a million questions on his mind, but he didn’t know if he had it in him to ask them. He wanted to go back to sleep, and he was starting to resent being woken up in the first place. Being left alone sounded heavenly. 

“We’ll go, then.” She gestured for Dr. Perrian to follow her out of the room. “Cap, you’re welcome to stay, if you like.”

It took Bucky a moment to figure out that she’d been calling Rogers ‘Cap.’ What a weird nickname… but it suited him. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Rogers asked. “I can go, if you want to rest.”

He shook his head. “No, stay.” He’d been nice so far. Asking him to stay wouldn’t hurt, would it? He didn’t seem as though he got angry very easily, although maybe Bucky was stupid to trust him in the first place. He couldn’t seem to help himself. “I want to talk to you.”

He’d rest in a minute or two. After he’d gotten his questions out of the way — although asking anything at all still felt like he was playing a dangerous game. 

“Sure,” Rogers said, looking almost pleased.

“What’s the ‘Cap’ thing about? Some kinda nickname?” 

“Short for ‘Captain,’” Steve explained, his face suddenly and inexplicably downcast. “I know. You — um, somebody I knew a while back started calling me that and it… it stuck. I don’t mind.” 

He’d been feeling very brave when he’d asked him that, and he was glad he’d responded to it so casually. There was no one else in the room to help him if he’d gotten angry, and he needed to keep that in mind. 

“Captain?” He repeated. “Captain Rogers.”

He probably should have been calling him that the whole time, then. If it was an official title. 

“No,” he said with a little sigh. “You can call me Steve.”

“Steve.” He blinked at him for a moment, considering the name. He almost liked it. “All right. Steve.” 

Steve nodded, a little smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. That’s better.”

Bucky liked that smile — it was _friendly._ Almost warm, even comforting. As comforting as anything could be, anyway, in a hospital room like this one. He was glad he’d asked him to stay.

Another question occurred to him. “What’s my last name? I mean, if I have one?” 

Steve’s eyes widened slightly and he wondered if he’d done something wrong. The way his broad shoulders stiffened was frankly alarming, but he relaxed again with that same defeated look on his face as before. “Yeah. You do. Barnes. Your name’s Bucky Barnes.” There was a strange note in his voice that was almost sad, and Bucky didn’t like it.

“Bucky Barnes,” he repeated. “Right… okay.”

He’d answered that question readily enough, which was a little encouraging. It didn’t seem like too much of a stretch to ask one more. Bucky was more willing to ask him questions than the doctors, anyway. Even as kind and friendly as they’d been, there was still a sort of professional air about them. Steve was more familiar.

“Is it okay if I ask you something else?”

Steve nodded. “Go ahead, Buck.”

 _Buck_. He’d called him that earlier, too, and it was difficult to decide if he liked it or not. He said it almost… fondly. That kind of talk with anyone was a little strange, but with Steve...

He tried not to get too distracted. “Right. You and Dr. Cho talked about a ‘rescue mission.’ What was that about?”

Whatever Steve had been expecting, it apparently hadn’t been that. He flinched slightly and looked away. There was that same anxious look on his face as earlier, when Dr. Cho had been talking about his shoulder. He didn’t like it. “I, um…” he started awkwardly. “I’m not sure the doctors wanted me to tell you about that yet.”

“Oh.” He was unwilling to press any further — although they hadn’t been particularly threatening, he still didn’t want to get on the wrong side of either of the doctors. 

“But it isn’t fair to just not answer your questions,” Steve continued. “I’ll tell you a little.”

He looked up at him expectantly as he started to talk. 

“I know you don’t remember anything, but I’ll do my best…” He seemed to be thinking, considering where to start. “Before you were here, you were… well, working, I guess. Working with some bad people. A group called HYDRA. They took advantage of you, hurt you. That arm’s a good example. They didn’t care what they did to you. They had you trained as… as a tool of theirs, but nobody deserves to live like that, so I tracked you down in one of their facilities and a team came and brought you back.”

“You… rescued me?” 

“Yeah.” There was a crooked sort of smile on his face. It was sweet. 

“I’ve heard of HYDRA,” Bucky said, and the smile vanished. 

“You have?” 

“I don’t remember much.” He thought for a moment. “I think they called me the Winter Soldier, didn’t they?”

Steve’s face paled. “The — the Winter Soldier. Yeah.” 

“Is — is something wrong, Steve?” He asked. He’d most definitely said something wrong, but he didn’t know what it was or how to fix it. He was surprised that he even wanted to. 

Steve shook his head quickly, jerkily. “No, it’s… it’s fine, Bucky. Everything’s fine. I just remembered, I’ve got somewhere to be, I’m sorry.” He stood up too quickly and turned away. “I’ll be back to visit you soon.”

He was gone so quickly that it made Bucky’s head spin. Now that he was alone, he closed his eyes against the bright lights and let out a breath. 

_What had that been about?_ He’d obviously said something wrong to make Steve go from someone so patient and mild-mannered to _that_ so quickly. If anything, it had been the ‘Winter Soldier’ bit. But he couldn’t pin down anything about his old name or HYDRA that would upset Steve so much. He couldn’t figure out why he cared at all. He’d been _nice._ It was unsettling. Now that he was alone, everything seemed so much more confusing and scary. He’d mean to ask someone where he was, but he’d missed his chance. There was still the nurse call button, but it wasn’t an emergency, and he didn’t want to get in trouble. 

He tried to get comfortable in the bed, but with his shoulder, it was difficult. It ached no matter what he did with it. He found himself wishing he’d asked for pain meds, but that didn’t seem like a proper emergency either. 

He wished that Steve were still here, or that he were asleep. But neither of those seemed even remotely attainable, so he lay still and stared up at the ceiling until it went blurry and he drifted off, his anxious, whirling thoughts slowly fading into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did forget to tell you guys, I plan to update every Saturday afternoon-ish Central time. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. In Which Bucky Barnes Is Not Actually At All Caught Up With Modern Technology

Steve didn’t visit. Bucky knew he shouldn’t be hurt by it — not even disappointed — but he’d promised. He’d said he would come back and see him. 

A week passed in the hospital room. Bucky stopped trying to keep track of how many days went by — it didn’t matter to him, but the digital clock on the wall displayed the date, which was hard to ignore. Every day, he expected Steve to come by, but he never did. Each time the door opened, he looked up hopefully, but it was just a nurse or an orderly or one of the many doctors. Usually Dr. Cho. Never Steve. 

He told himself that he’d given up quickly enough, and he stopped even looking towards the door after the first few days, but he still wished that he could at least have an explanation of what he’d done wrong. 

He went over it in his head again and again. He’d only said his name, and Steve had been so hurt. He’d reacted as if Bucky were some sort of monster, stumbling out of the room in his eagerness to get away from him. He wished he could have done things differently. Steve had been so nice to him, until then. He’d almost acted like a friend. 

The cold, sterile hospital room didn’t help, either. It was lonely, impersonal — all white sheets and pale stainless steel. He wanted nothing more than to get out of there, but no one showed any sign of wanting to let him go. He began to wonder if he’d be living here for the rest of his life. 

* * *

But that wasn’t the case after all, it seemed. Around the eighth day, one rainy morning, a nurse came in to inform him that they were “moving him.”

“Since you’ve healed up, we’re going to start moving you into a more… comfortable room,” he explained briefly. 

The way he said it made Bucky’s stomach turn over. Where were they taking him, exactly? He’d been an idiot to trust any one of them — even just Dr. Cho. 

The nurse left again after taking a blood test, and he was alone. His imagination was about the only thing that kept him company lately, with Steve still MIA, and it ran wild on the best of days. He started to grow paranoid. Perhaps this place wasn’t as safe as he’d thought it had been at first.

Worst of all, it took  _ days  _ for them to mention moving him again. That gave him plenty of time to dream up all the outrageous, horrible things they might do to him wherever he was going, and even to wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing in the first place. 

* * *

His anxiety built up ever stronger as he lay in bed, watching the days pass by, but finally Dr. Cho came to see him again. 

When she came to see him, it was usually for either physical therapy or for some important test. No big deal by any standard, but they were often painful and they involved such a horrifying array of sharp medical equipment that lately, whenever she came into the room, his pulse began to race. He was beginning to worry that the pavlovian effect was setting in.

But there was nothing he could do about it. 

This time, though, she stopped beside the bed, her hands empty. He looked up at her cautiously. What did she want?

“One of our nurses told you that we were moving you, I believe?”

Oh. This again. His pulse, which had just been slowing back down, quickened. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry there was such a delay. We wanted to wait for a few more things to heal before we gave you a room of your own.”

“A room of my own?” He repeated. 

She nodded. “Yes. We planned to do it three days ago, but now you’ve finally been cleared. I’ll have a nurse come in to take the IV out and get you a change of clothes.”

And she was gone just as soon as she’d come in, leaving Bucky bewildered and wondering if he might have imagined that, too. He’d know soon enough, he assured himself. He closed his eyes. 

Seemingly not a moment after he’d fallen asleep, he was awakened again by a soft voice next to his ear. 

“Sir?” Said the voice. “I’m sorry to wake you up, sir.”

He opened his eyes blearily and looked up at her. “‘S fine,” he murmured, blinking a couple of times and sitting up. 

He’d been healing up well — his collarbone was fine now, and even his shoulder hurt far less than it had on the first day. He couldn’t help but be grateful for that small miracle. He didn’t know if he’d be able to handle getting up and walking around if his arm had been hurting quite that badly. He’d been walking around, though. He was a little shaky, from lack of practice, and somewhat hampered by the heavy left arm that threw him off balance, but he managed. 

And anyway, if Dr. Cho thought he could handle whatever they were throwing at him now, he’d just have to handle it. 

The nurse set about removing the IV, ripping off the tape. He winced in spite of himself, and she looked apologetic. It was over quickly, though, and she handed him a change of clothes, promising to wait outside so that she could show him to his room.

As he changed, he considered not going out to meet her at all, or just climbing out through the window never to be seen again, but… it would be better to stay here. They fed him regularly, at least. 

He made his way out into the hall to meet the nurse, dressed in a gray t-shirt and sweatpants, a pair of flimsy sandals on his feet. His hair remained a tangled mess — they’d started letting him take showers a while ago, but he hadn’t bothered with much in the way of looking after it. 

She was waiting for him just outside the door, which startled him a little. 

“It isn’t a long walk, sir,” she said, already making her way down the hall. “Just to the elevator, really. Your room isn’t far away at all.”

He followed her, nodding absently. He didn’t care how long of a walk it was — actually, he’d love to be as far from this place as he could get. He hadn’t left the floor, as far as he could remember, so the possibility of an elevator was positively exciting. 

But it really wasn’t far at all. Two floors up, and a short walk down the hall on the new floor, and they’d arrived at the room. 

She opened the door to let him inside, holding it for him. He went in, looking cautiously around. It seemed like a normal enough room… small, as far as he could see. Like a hotel room, almost. Immediately in front of him was a little living room area, which opened up into a bedroom, with a large, soft-looking bed. A normal bed — no IV stand. Large windows lined one wall, letting in sunlight, which spilled across the wood floors. A half-open door to the left partially concealed a white-tiled bathroom, and there was a little kitchen area that he could see around the corner on the other side. It was inviting. All his. 

The nurse was talking, looking around at the room. “You’ve got everything you should need here. Clothes, toiletries, clean sheets and towels in the closet. The only thing you don’t have is food. You have a kitchenette with a refrigerator, of course, but we didn’t want to stock it for you. There’s food in the common room down the hall, and you can help yourself.”

Bucky listened, still a little shocked by the swiftness with which they’d kicked him out of the hospital room. 

“You can ask Jarvis for help if you need anything, and of course you know where to find the medical wing.”

Bucky wanted to ask who the hell Jarvis was, but the nurse was already leaving. 

“I believe that’s all. Again, you can ask for help if you need it, but other than that, you’re free to go. Your other appointments with Dr. Cho still stand, but you can discuss that with her if you like.”

And just like that, he was alone. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself, after being told exactly where to go and what to do for so, so long. He was hungry, but, sure enough, there wasn’t any food in the kitchen. If he wanted to eat, he’d have to go out into the “common room.” He wasn’t sure he was ready for that yet. 

He wandered around the little suite, checking for bugs and cameras and everything else he could think of, but it was secure. At least as far as he could tell. Not finding anything agitated him. If these people weren’t keeping an eye on him, then what the hell did they  _ want?  _ He didn’t understand. It was creepy, and despite the distinct lack of cameras, he could still feel someone’s eyes on him. 

He paced the room in agitation. He’d have to leave at some point, of course, but he could put that off until tonight when he wouldn’t have to worry about running into anyone else. He was  _ starving _ . The last meal he’d had had been the night before.

It bothered him, though, that there was no sign of anyone letting him leave this building, whatever it was. No one had even told him the name of the place, they’d moved him into a permanent room… was he staying here forever? 

He was jerked out of his thoughts by a loud voice.  _ Sergeant Barnes, sir. Captain Rogers wishes to speak with you. _

He looked around wildly for the source of the voice. He’d obviously missed something, but where the hell was it? “Who’s — who’s there?” He called softly. 

_ My name is Jarvis. I am an artificially intelligent device created by Tony Stark for use in this building. I believe you have not met me yet, and I apologize. The nurse may have been under the impression that you already knew who I am. _

Bucky sat down hard on the bed. “Jarvis,” he repeated. “I’m going crazy.” 

He’d been going crazy for quite some time, he figured, but this was what did it. He’d really lost it this time. 

_ You haven’t gone crazy,  _ Jarvis assured him in his steady, calm voice.  _ You are quite sane  _ —  _ if your psychological examinations are to be believed. Now, would you like to speak to Captain Rogers?  _

He wanted to talk to Steve more than he’d ever wanted anything before in his life. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and demand an explanation of what he’d done wrong, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know if he could face him, after what happened last time.

“What does he want to talk about?” He asked, accepting, for the time being, that Jarvis wasn’t a figment of his imagination after all. 

_ He has heard that you’ve been moved into permanent living quarters and he wishes to see how you’re doing after so long.  _ There had been a pause before Jarvis spoke, as if he were thinking — or as if he’d had to ask Steve himself. Bucky wasn’t sure what he thought of that possibility.

“Can you just tell him that I’m fine?” He asked. 

_ He wants to speak to you himself.  _

“Just tell him I’m fine. I don’t want to speak to him.” 

_ He won’t take that for an answer. He wants to talk to you directly. I’m beginning to think that he doesn’t believe that you’re fine.  _

Bucky sighed, defeated. If Steve was going to be that stubborn, well… he’d talk to him. Just for a few minutes, so he could see that he hadn’t done any serious damage last time. That would be enough to get him to leave, he hoped. “Fine. I’m  _ fine,  _ but if he wants to talk to me that damn badly, I’ll let him.” 

_ As you wish, sir.  _

A different voice rang through the room this time. “Bucky?”

“Steve,” he said coldly. 

“Hey. Are you okay? I know I wasn’t exactly… polite to you, last time. I’m really sorry about that, I don’t know what happened.” He talked quickly. Bucky wondered if he was afraid that he’d hang up on him. But he didn’t have to worry — he didn’t know how to do that. “Are you okay? I heard you’re doing better.”

“I’m fine,” he said testily, for seemingly the twentieth time. He was getting a little tired of telling him that. “Really, I’m fine. I wish you’d believe me.”

Steve sighed. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. Listen, can I come over? I wanted to see you.”

That gave him pause. Why hadn’t Steve just come to see him, then? It would have been easier than anything — he’d been in that hospital room for days and days, and he could have dropped in any time. He could have apologized in person and explained himself, even. Bucky felt a flash of irritation. “No.”

“Bucky…”

“I said no, Steve. You got to apologize, what else do you want?”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and when he finally spoke, he almost sounded hurt. “I want to see you. I know you’re okay, but I just… I want to talk to you, Bucky. It’s been a while.” 

He couldn’t imagine why Steve cared so much, but he was so insistent that he was about ready to give in. 

“I can bring you something to eat, if you like. You’ve got to be tired of hospital food.”

That intrigued him. And it wasn’t as if he could have gotten rid of him any other way, anyway. “Okay,” he agreed reluctantly. “Fine. You can come over if you bring me some food.”

There was one problem solved, at least for today. 

“Is tonight okay?” He asked. “Five o’clock or so? I’ve got a meeting at seven, so I can’t do much later than that.”

“Yeah. Five.” Bucky sighed. “See you at five.”

A glance over at the clock on the nightstand told him that it was one in the afternoon. He had four hours to kill, and he couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or not that Steve was coming over. On the one hand, he was hungry as anything, but on the other, Steve was an asshole and it meant that he’d have to spend at least an hour in his presence. 


	4. The Dinner Date

Bucky was more excited to see Steve than he’d have cared to admit. He hadn’t had a friendly conversation with anyone since the day he’d woken up — and that one had been with Steve, too. 

He’d been lonely. 

There also wasn’t much to do in the little suite. It was tiny, although it had seemed luxurious and even rather large at first after his cramped hospital room. 

He spent the rest of the afternoon looking around, which, as it turned out, there was plenty to look at. Jarvis noticed that he was bored after the first ten minutes or so and began pointing things out to him.He told him how to use the television, reminded him of the extra clothes in the dresser, showed off the extraordinarily high-tech bathtub, and explained how the lights worked — they could be switched on and off by  _ clapping.  _ Incredible. He spent far too long playing with them, flicking them on and off and on and off again until they gave him a headache. Jarvis was not amused. 

In this way, he occupied himself until Steve arrived. He took a shower and changed into nicer clothes — he’d been supplied with quite a selection, from sweatpants, like the pair he had on, to dress shirts. 

After trying on at least half of his options, he chose something decent but not too fancy: a t-shirt and jeans, a jacket, olive green with a somewhat stiff collar, but comfortable. Since it was  _ his  _ living quarters, he decided against shoes. It didn’t seem worth it. 

Dressed and ready to go, he spent the last half-hour or so sitting on the bed, watching the clock. He was hungry. He had been since this morning and now it was nearly five — he thought about going over to the kitchen anyway to just grab something, maybe make a sandwich, but Steve would be here any minute, and what if that was when Bucky happened to be away? He might just turn around and leave. 

He’d wait. 

* * *

Steve was perfectly on time. He knocked just as the clock switched from reading  _ 4:59  _ to  _ 5:00.  _ It was almost unnerving. He got up from the bed to open the door for him, with very little caution. He wasn’t expecting anyone else. 

Sure enough, there he was, standing there with a large paper bag in his arms. He’d dressed nicely, and it made Bucky wonder if he should have put shoes on after all. 

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside and holding the door open for him. 

“Thanks.” Steve smiled — a shy little smile that was almost… endearing. 

Bucky tried not to stare, instead turning away to lead him towards the kitchen. “Come on. You can set that down, if you like.” He’d eat later. “Anything in particular you want to talk about?”

Steve set the bag down on the table and started taking out plastic containers and soda cans and something wrapped in paper. It smelled nice — Bucky remembered again how hungry he was. “Nothing in particular,” he said with a little shrug. “I just wanted to check in on you. See how you’re doing.” He sat down, crumpling the now-empty paper bag, and seemed to be waiting for Bucky to do the same. 

He sat down across from him, looking at the food spread out across the table. “I’m fine. I told you that,” he said testily. 

Steve nodded, pushing one of the containers towards him, along with a can of cherry Coke. “I know. And you look much better, too.” He seemed to sense that Bucky didn’t want to discuss it, and thankfully decided not to push any more. “I ordered from this restaurant down the street from here. I figured you’d like it — it’s… it’s really good. I eat there all the time.”

There was a small feast spread out over the table, mostly wrapped in plastic and paper. Steve had even brought him dessert, in the form of a brownie wrapped in cellophane. It was far too much food for one person to eat, although leftovers would be nice… Steve intended to share with him. He hadn’t realized — he’d just thought he’d be bribing him with a sandwich or something so that he could see for himself that he was doing better, but this was a whole  _ meal.  _ And it looked absolutely heavenly, too. Better than anything he’d eaten in the last two weeks.

He opened the container. Tomato soup. His stomach growled softly and he looked up, blushing, but Steve didn’t seem to have heard. 

“Here… there’s spoons here somewhere. And I ordered grilled cheese to go with it, too. And brownies.” 

He took the spoon Steve offered him, reaching over to pick up one of the paper-wrapped packages. “Thanks for all this,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t think you’d bring me so much stuff. It looks  _ really  _ good.” 

Steve was busy unwrapping his own sandwich, but he looked up again with a faint smile. “Yeah, of course. I figured you could do with some better food after nothing but toast and canned peaches for two weeks.” 

He nodded. “Damn right.” 

They both started eating — it was one of the better things he’d eaten in the last couple of weeks, that was for sure. The soup was warm and savory and he thoroughly enjoyed dipping his sandwich in it, if only because of the look Steve gave him for it. He ate far too quickly, not stopping to enjoy it properly, but he couldn’t help himself. He was  _ starving.  _ And Steve ate quickly, too, so he didn’t feel weird about it. 

“How are you liking things here?” Steve asked, once they were mostly finished eating. 

Bucky finished off his Coke — he loved the stuff, especially the cherry-flavored variety. He wondered how Steve knew. “It’s not bad,” he said after considering the question. “I haven’t looked around much, really. But this is nice.” He gestured around the room. 

Steve nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been staying here, too,” he said. “Just for a few weeks, I think. It’s  _ really  _ nice, if you ever do feel like exploring. There’s a swimming pool.”

“What the hell is this place?” Bucky asked, raising his eyebrows. “A hospital with a  _ swimming pool?  _ And apartments too, apparently.” 

Steve laughed at the incredulous look on his face. He’d have been a little more scandalized at being laughed at, except, well… it was a nice laugh. “It’s sort of a… multipurpose facility. Place called Stark Tower. We’re keeping you here so you can heal up from your injuries and… all that. Then when that’s all done, you can stay if you like, or we can find you somewhere else.”

He was very obviously withholding something from him, but he didn’t want to push him. He’d been so nice so far, and he didn’t want to ruin it. He’d take the answer that he gave him. That was enough for now. “You’re living here, too?” 

“Yeah.” He looked around the room, seeming fascinated by the interior decoration. “I’m allowed to stay over whenever I want, but most of the time I live in my own apartment. Still, sometimes it’s more convenient to come over here for work. Just for a few weeks at a time, mostly.”

“What d’you do?” He asked. He was intrigued — his answer had had something of a mysterious quality to it. 

But the look on Steve’s face was genuinely pained, and it made him wonder if he should have asked. 

“I can’t tell you much,” he said with a little sigh. “But I work with a group called the Avengers. We do… all kinds of things — combat-related stuff, mostly. It’s… real dangerous. Crazy, sometimes.” The look in his eyes was so weird that Bucky wondered if he was feeling all right. It was faraway, almost… longing. It freaked him out.

“Oh,” he said, deciding that he was satisfied with the answer. “Yeah. I get that.” 

There was a moment’s awkward pause while Bucky finished his brownie and Steve crumpled the paper wrapper from his sandwich, that same distant look in his eyes. It was nearly five forty-five now. Not late, but… Steve had a meeting. Still, there was some time left, wasn’t there?

“You’d really like this place,” Steve said softly. “I can show you around, sometime, if you like?” 

He looked so hopeful — Bucky didn’t have the heart to say no. “If you’re not too busy, sometime? I’d like that. It’d be nice to have someone who knows their way around.” 

“I know the feeling. But Jarvis can help, anyway, if we get lost.”

“Yeah, he’s… helpful,” Bucky agreed. He wasn’t sure how else to describe him. 

“You met him?” He asked. 

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. He showed me around here a little bit. Gave me some… er, tips and tricks? I can clap the lights on and off.”

Steve laughed. “I know. That’s new. Tony — a friend of mine, owns this place — decided to install those all over the building. For efficiency, I guess.” 

“Makes sense to me.” Bucky shrugged. “They  _ are  _ efficient.”

“He comes up with things like that all the time. It’s  _ ridiculous.”  _

“You’ll have to show me,” he said. He was excited, suddenly. What else did this place have in store for him? And having someone to give him a tour was almost… nice. Going out to look around on his own sounded like a nightmare, but with Steve? Fine. It was doable. 

“I will,” Steve promised. “This weekend?” He suggested. “I can bring you dinner and everything. Just like tonight.”

“You… you don’t have to,” he said shyly. “But, I mean, if you want?” 

But buying him dinner wasn’t cheap, and he almost felt bad about making Steve do it twice. Still, the offer of another meal like this one was too good to just pass up. 

Steve didn’t seem to mind, anyway. “It’s okay. I’ll come and visit on… Saturday, if it’s all right?”

Bucky nodded eagerly. Today was a Wednesday — Saturday was a long way off, but he could wait a few days. He wasn’t  _ desperate.  _ Besides, he couldn’t ask him to come over sooner. He was probably just doing it in the first place because he felt bad for him. “Saturday’s good. Same time?” 

“Yeah, five o’clock. I’ll meet you here?”

“I… guess so.” It was a long way off, but it was nice to have something to look forward to. 

Steve looked at his watch. “Shit, Bucky. I’m sorry, it’s late. I’ve got a meeting in… an hour.” He sighed. “I should go and get ready.” 

He was almost sad to see him go. “I can clean up here,” he said, gathering up their trash from the table. 

Steve did the same, starting to put everything back into the bag. Within a minute, the table was clean again. The two of them stood up, Bucky taking the bag from him and going over to put it on the counter. 

“Thank you,” Bucky said again. “Really. Dinner was really good, and… it was nice having somebody over.” In his defense, he didn’t realize quite how sad the words sounded until they were out of his mouth. He winced a little. 

But Steve didn’t seem to care. “Yeah, any time. It was nice to talk to you, and I’ve… really got to hurry. I’m supposed to dress nice for this thing.” 

He reached out to clap him on the shoulder, his hand resting there for a moment. Bucky looked up at him, wide-eyed. His hand was big and slightly heavy and very, very warm — the warmth seemed to radiate out from where it touched him, even through the jacket.

He looked away, embarrassed. What was he doing, getting sentimental over someone touching his shoulder? “Yeah. Might take a while,” he agreed. 

Steve laughed. “Yeah. I’ll try and call you again, if Jarvis’ll let me? Before Saturday, I hope.” 

“That sounds good,” he agreed. “So… see you then? Or talk to you sooner.” 

“Yeah,” he said, that trademark smile on his face. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Bye, Steve.” 

Bucky gave a shy little wave, and Steve waved back. As quickly as he’d come, he was gone. Suddenly, Saturday seemed a whole lot further away. 


	5. Tony

He didn’t want to risk leaving his room too early, for fear of running into someone. He wasn’t hungry right now, thanks to the dinner Steve had brought him, but he stayed up anyway, watching the clock. 

Steve had left at six — it hadn’t even been dark outside yet. Slowly, six became seven, then eight… nine… ten… eleven. It got dark outside, and Bucky grew very, very bored. How long would he be staying here? Of course, he’d have Steve over, but that seemed so far away.  _ Saturday.  _ He should have asked if he could come Friday instead. 

He sighed. Eleven was good enough, wasn’t it? And maybe he could find himself a book or something while he was out there, too. Or he could have Steve bring him one. 

But he didn’t want to get up, after all. He lay back on the soft, comfortable bed, looking over at the window, the curtains wide open. The view was beautiful. The night sky was dark and velvety, mostly covered with clouds, but the occasional star showing through. Buildings soared up into the sky, lit up with thousands of glimmering, golden lights, all stopping far below the window. He could see  _ everything  _ from up here. He didn’t want to look away. 

It was a perfectly reasonable time to go outside. No one would be around, which was what he’d wanted. But it still scared him. There  _ could  _ be someone out there, and he didn’t know his way around, and… what if he got lost? He’d rather stay here and look out at the view from the window. He could worry about food in the morning. 

Except, well… he couldn’t. 

Promising himself that it would be over with in ten minutes, that he had Jarvis to help him, and that he wouldn’t have to do it again for at least another week, he got up from the bed and put his shoes on. 

_ Are you all right, sir? _

He jumped. “What?” He asked. “I’m fine.”

_ Your vitals look abnormal. I wanted to check on you. Your heart rate is a little high and it’s an odd time to be up. You should be in bed.  _

“I just have something I need to do, it’ll only take a few minutes.” 

_ And what’s that?  _

Bucky could scarcely believe he was explaining himself to an  _ AI,  _ but he decided to put the ridiculousness of the situation aside for a moment. “I need… I need food. They didn’t give me any but the nurse basically said I could help myself. That’s… that’s okay, right? I’m just going to take a few things.” It was stealing, but he didn’t see any other options. Jarvis wouldn’t mind… right?

_ Of course, sir. It’s natural to be nervous in a new environment like this one, especially at night and on so little sleep. That would explain why your heart rate is so high. I would advise going back to your room and making a cup of tea or doing breathing exercises if it becomes too uncomfortable.  _

Okay, then. He nodded slowly, heading for the door. “Thanks, Jarvis.”

_ I can also order your groceries for you, if you prefer.  _

He stopped. “You… you can?” That was nice to know. 

_ They would take a few days to arrive, but yes. I can order nearly anything online.  _

“That’ll make things… easier,” he decided. “I’ll talk to you about it when I get back, but if it’ll take a while, I need food for the next few days anyway.” He didn’t have money, though, so he didn’t get his hopes up too high.

_ Very well, sir.  _

He took a deep breath and made his way out into the hall. It was dark and cold, lined with closed doors that he assumed were more rooms like his. How many people lived here? From the looks of it, though, they were asleep.

The elevator was back behind him. It was tall and ominous, the metal doors tight shut. The nurse had told him that the kitchen was “down the hall,” so that meant it was in the other direction. He could see that the hall opened up into something else, a little ways away. That was dark, too. It must have been the common area, where the kitchen was supposed to be. 

He could hear a noise like a machine running as he drew closer. It was low and soft, not very powerful. Maybe someone was up, after all — he smelled coffee. He wanted to turn back, but by that time, he was already in the doorway. 

He stopped. 

“Hello?” A man’s voice called. 

The lights flickered on and Bucky could see someone standing on the other end of the room. A short man, his dark hair short and messy, oddly contrasting with his neatly-trimmed goatee. There were dark circles under his eyes. Something dark stained his gray t-shirt. 

“Um… hi?” Bucky tried. He remained in the doorway. 

“You’re Barnes, aren’t you," he said, although it wasn’t really a question. “D’you want coffee?”

He nodded slowly. “Sure? I mean, if you don’t mind.” 

He didn’t want to stay and talk to whoever this was, but it seemed rude to refuse. The coffee wasn’t done yet, so he went over to the pantry to find a few things to take back with him. Tony watched keenly as he selected a couple of cans of soup, a half-empty bag of white bread, one of two jars of peanut butter, and a few apples, the latter from the bowl on the counter. None of it looked good at all, but it would do for now. 

“Midnight snack?” The man asked dryly. 

Bucky shrugged absently. 

The coffee maker beeped and the man hastily pressed a button, which silenced it. He started rifling through the cabinets, eventually finding a pair of coffee mugs. He poured them each a generous amount of coffee and slid one of the mugs across the counter without speaking. 

“Thanks,” Bucky said softly. He picked it up and took a sip, wincing. It was  _ scorching  _ hot — it burned his tongue, and it was bitter as hell. He didn’t like black coffee. 

“No problem,” the man said from somewhere farther away. 

When Bucky looked up, he was standing in front of the fridge, looking for something. He turned around and brought back a tall, blue plastic container. “Coffee creamer,” he explained, flipping the lid open and pouring a substantial amount into his cup. He offered it to Bucky. “Want any? Don’t know many people who like black coffee.”

He took it, inspecting it curiously. It smelled like vanilla, and if the other man was drinking it, it was probably safe. “Thanks.” He poured some out, watching as his coffee turned a light caramel color. 

The two of them were quiet for a little while. Bucky cautiously sampled his drink — it was delicious. The way he liked it, although he couldn’t remember ever drinking coffee before, but sweeter. And not as hot now. 

“I don’t know if I ever got your name,” he said at last, looking over at the other man. 

“Tony,” he said shortly. 

“Oh.”  _ Tony?  _ “You can call me Bucky.”

He’d heard of Tony earlier today — he was the one who had fixed the lights so that he could clap them on and off. And — assuming it was the same Tony Stark that Jarvis had mentioned — he owned the rest of the building, too. Bucky didn’t know what to make of that, because the man in front of him, tired, rumpled, and wearing a stained shirt, hardly looked up to the task of managing  _ anything.  _

Tony nodded. “That’s a weird name, but all right, Bucky it is. What are you doing in the kitchen, anyway? It’s almost midnight.”

Bucky’s face went red and he stared down into his coffee. “I… um… I got hungry,” he tried to explain. 

“I can see that.” Tony said, nodding towards the cans on the counter. “Odd choice for a snack,” he said conversationally. 

“Yeah. Jarvis said I could order some food, but I want something to eat in the meantime.” He shrugged. “I… tried not to take too much, but if you need me to put it back…?”

He was struck with the sudden, horrifying revelation that this was Tony’s kitchen. He’d probably be angry that he was taking his food, he might even throw him out… he was supposed to order his own, after all. What would happen to his dinner date with Steve?

But Tony was shaking his head. “No, it’s okay. You can take whatever you like. I’m sorry, Jarvis isn’t the most efficient, sometimes, and that’s… kind of my fault.”

“I don’t mind. He’s actually… he’s very helpful. He did a great job of showing me around, and… yeah. I like him.”

“He’s still got his flaws,” Tony said, shaking off the praise. “But I’m glad you like him, Bucko.”

_ Bucko?  _ “Yeah, he’s… incredible, actually. Never seen anything like him before. He’s so advanced, I don’t know how you…”

He trailed off, because Tony was giving him a very odd look. 

They both fell silent. It was painfully awkward, and Bucky found himself struggling to find something else to say to him. 

“So… um, I want to ask you…” he started, looking over at him again. Tony was surveying him intently. “You… you own this — this place, right?”

Tony nodded wordlessly. He looked curious now, and Bucky felt encouraged. 

“So do you know anything about me or, you know, where I came from?” He asked. He knew that it was a weird question to ask anyone, let alone a complete stranger. It was terrible small talk, but this conversation was weird already, so he didn’t think it mattered much. Tony didn’t seem too judgemental. “I’m sorry, I just… I don’t remember, well, anything, and I tried asking Steve, but he didn’t have time to tell me much.”

“I can tell you whatever you want to know,” Tony said. “I’m not sure why you’re asking me, Bucko, but I know about as much as anybody else might, so ask away.” He didn’t seem put off at all by Bucky’s questions. If anything, he looked intrigued. 

“I know about HYDRA,” he said. “I can remember that, and… well, the… Winter Soldier?” He said the words hesitantly, terrified that Tony would be upset with him the way Steve had been, the first day. 

“Yeah. The Winter Soldier.” Tony’s face was impassive. “Cap told me about that. We rescued you from a HYDRA facility a little while ago — do you remember that?”

He shook his head, his eyes wide. “No… no, I don’t. Will you tell me the whole story, or, well, as much as you can?” 

“I’ll try.” Tony nodded. “I don’t know everything, but Cap told me a lot about you, and if he won’t talk to you, then I’ll do my best.”

That last little remark stung — they just hadn’t had time to talk about it, right? That had been all. Steve would have told him everything if they’d had more time, but he’d had that meeting…

Tony noticed the distressed look on his face. “Bucky? You all right there?”

“Yeah — yeah, go ahead, Tony. I’m fine.” He stared down at the chipped marble countertop, his face reddening. It was _embarrassing._

“Okay.” Tony took a deep breath, as though he were preparing himself for the story he was about to tell. “You and Steve have been friends for a long time. You knew him before HYDRA. From what I hear, he was… a handful, but that part’s for him to tell. The two of you used to live together, I hear, but then you got drafted into World War II, and one thing led to another, and soon enough you got captured by HYDRA. Steve — well,  _ Captain America,  _ busted you out. The way he tells it is a little more dramatic, but does any of it ring a bell…?”

“Not really,” Bucky admitted. It was a lot to take in. “Steve and I used to be friends?”

“You lived together, apparently,” he said with an offhanded shrug. “That was back in the 1940s, ‘bout… oh, seventy years ago now. Lasted ‘till the war.He was devastated when you got drafted. Ended up enlisting illegally on his own — ‘cause he had asthma. But one thing led to another and that’s how Captain America happened. He took some kinda experimental drug and turned all big and muscular.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “All right then… I guess. That’s a lot to take in, but I’ll believe it.” He wasn’t sure how the math worked out. He wasn’t seventy years old, was he? He didn’t  _ feel  _ seventy years old, but then again, he didn’t think he’d know if he did. So, who knew? 

“Good. So, anyway, Robocop, the two of you and some of your other friends hung out in Europe for a while and fucked shit up I guess — I think generally you were trying to take down HYDRA. You called yourselves — you called yourselves the ‘Howling Commandos.’” He snorted with laughter, shaking his head. 

He watched him coolly, taking everything in. 

“Anyway, I guess you did that for a while. HYDRA didn’t defend itself very well, you guys had pretty much won… all that.” He shrugged. “And then you got captured again. Fell right off a train and they dragged you off. That’s how you lost the arm. HYDRA kept you, he crashed a plane into the Atlantic Ocean a couple of months later. Speed up to present day, we find Capsicle, defrost him —”

“You... what?” Bucky asked. He’d been able to digest everything Tony had told him so far, up until now. “ _ Defrost  _ him?”

“Yeah. Whatever the hell Erskine gave him way back when allows for some pretty crazy stunts, apparently,” Tony said. His expression was casual, as though he were telling Bucky about his day rather than  _ this.  _ “He held up just fine. Some lucky guy stumbled across the plane sticking out of an iceberg, so we brought him home, defrosted him, dried him off… he’s fine.”

“And then what?” Bucky asked, hanging onto Tony’s every word in spite of himself. The story was, well, horrifying. It didn’t seem quite real, though, so he was hanging onto that. It was more like a cool science fiction novel than anything that could happen in real life… right?

“Well, we recruited him to work for us.” Tony gestured around the room at large. “He can do all kinds of crazy stuff. I don’t know if he told you about it, but he will. It’s not important to the story. Anyway, this dude named Loki attacks New York, this was… earlier this year, yeah. There were aliens involved, crazy stuff.”

“ _ Aliens? _ ”

“Yeah, I said aliens. Do you want to hear the rest of it, or what?”

He nodded mutely. He’d ask Steve about all this later. Check his facts. 

“Well,” Tony continued. “ _ As I was saying, _ once we were all done fighting them off, got Loki locked up, we had a little… slip-up. Loki got away, bunch of us went off looking for him. He disappears, but Cap comes staggering back all beat up, mumbling about how you’re alive and he needs to find you — of course, we assume Loki fucked him up, but he won’t give it up so eventually we just go along with it. And, well… he was right. Here you are.”

“How did he know?” Bucky asked softly. “Did this Loki guy tell him, or…?”

“He’s sticking to his original story,” Tony said. “It’s  _ insane,  _ but he was right, so I don’t know what to think. He says… he says it was his future self who beat him up and told him that. His  _ future self,  _ Bucko. And somehow, after aliens, it’s almost believable.”

“So… after that, you guys just tracked me down and rescued me?”

“Yeah. Pretty much. We got the whole team together — you’ll get to meet them, don’t worry — and spent a whole lot of time finding you and getting ready for everything. It was… crazy. Just six solid months of nothing but work. Steve backed out of it at the last minute. We went without him.”

That didn’t seem right. “Why’d he do that?” Bucky asked softly. “What happened?”

“He hurt himself,” Tony said dryly. “Training. Dr. Cho wouldn’t let him come, he was  _ pissed. _ ”

“Oh,” he said. That made more sense, anyway. Even if it was still weird that Steve hadn’t actually been there — he should thank him for finding him and for trying to help, anyway. He’d said he’d call, so he’d be able to do it then. 

“Is that all you wanted to know?” Tony asked, looking very pointedly at his watch. 

Bucky thought. He couldn’t come up with anything else, so he nodded slowly. “I… I think so,” he agreed. “It’s late… if you want to go back to bed…?”

“I have to go back to work,” Tony corrected him. “But… yeah. It’s after midnight. You probably need some sleep. And food,” he added with a nod towards the items on the counter. 

“Yeah. I do,” he agreed, although he didn’t think he’d be sleeping any time soon. He had a hell of a lot to think about, with everything Tony had just told him. But it would be rude to disagree. “So… good night?” He started to gather up his things. 

“Good night,” Tony said absently, turning away to put the coffee mugs in the sink.

On his way out of the kitchen, Bucky stopped at the pantry to grab a box of tea bags that was sitting on the shelf. Jarvis had recommended it, after all. He felt as though it might come in handy tonight — it was chamomile.

* * *

He made his way back to his room through the dark hallway. He should have found a box or a bag or something to put his food in. It was hard to keep everything balanced as he walked, and what was worse, he had to keep an eye out for which room was his. 

They were numbered, but he didn’t remember what the number  _ was.  _

Luckily, he remembered leaving the lights on, and his was the only room on the whole hall with lights that he could see. Of course, he could just ask Jarvis, but that would have been embarrassing. 

He found his room and let himself clumsily back in, dropping one of the apples onto the floor. He cursed, reaching down to pick it up but only managing to drop another one. 

He closed the door behind him and set everything he’d managed to hold onto on the kitchen table, before going back for the apples. He put everything away and set about making a cup of tea. 

_ I see you’ve met Master Stark.  _

“Yeah. Tony?”

_ That would be him.  _

“He’s a nice guy. Talks a lot.”

_ You asked him to tell you your entire life story.  _

“That was... weird, wasn’t it? Should I have not asked...?”

_ He did tell you. Besides, he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t get out much these days. I think he liked talking to you. And you took the news remarkably calmly. _

“Oh.” Bucky, fiddled with the teabag in his cup. He still felt strange and anxious from his trip out into the kitchen, so he hoped Jarvis was right about the tea. “Yeah. It’s a lot to take in, but… nothing new, I guess. I liked talking to him, too. He was… straightforward. Told me what I wanted to know. And he gave me coffee.” 

_ The coffee was a bad idea.  _

“Yeah, probably.” 

_ You should go to bed soon. It’s well after midnight. _

“Shit… yeah. Everybody keeps telling me that tonight. I’ll go and get ready for bed after this.”

He sat back in his chair, having no intention of actually moving for a good, long while. He’d forgotten all about the groceries, and those could wait until the morning, anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, okay, I know it's a Tuesday. But I went home early today, so... bonus content?


	6. Doctor's Appointments and Other Misfortunes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for panic attacks.

Dr. Cho decided, last minute Thursday afternoon, to call Bucky in for a checkup. She’d apologized profusely for the short notice, but it wasn’t as if he minded. He didn’t have anywhere else to be, and anyway, it would be nice to get out of his room for a change. 

He was a little less fearful of running into people outside than he’d been the night before. The problem hadn’t gone away, though, which Jarvis helpfully pointed out for him as he stepped into the elevator.

_ I might recommend doing breathing exercises, sir. _

Bucky sighed loudly. “I know, Jarvis. Thanks. I’ll be fine. I just want to go in there and get it over with.” 

He leaned back against the back wall of the elevator, taking a few deep breaths as Jarvis instructed. It wasn’t being outside that scared him so much anymore — the place was much easier to deal with in daylight. It looked like a hotel, more or less. It was going to see another doctor that really terrified him. 

He’d almost forgotten about his numerous upcoming doctor’s appointments until now, in the excitement of meeting Steve and Tony and being moved to the new room. It was easy to forget that he was still a mess and that he really did need things looked over. 

Someone was supposed to go over his arm next week and talk about  _ fixing  _ it. He dreaded the very thought of it. 

* * *

The elevator doors slid open, and he was deposited in the hall that ran down the length of the medical floor. Up ahead, a door opened and a tall, thin nurse walked down the hall toward him. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” he said. “You can come with me.”

Bucky followed him quickly down the sterile, white hallway, their footsteps echoing deafeningly in his ears. His heart pounded just as loudly. Dr. Cho hadn’t said what she was going to do with him. In fact, there hadn’t been much of a discussion at all. He regretted that now. 

The nurse opened one of the doors with a sharp click and held it open for Bucky. He went inside and looked around. There was an examination table in the middle of the room, stainless steel. A counter along one side of the room was covered in an array of strange, sharp, intimidating medical equipment. He’d been in here before, for a checkup on one of his first days here. 

It hadn’t gone well last time — Dr. Cho hadn’t even been able to finish her exam. 

He still felt bad about that, as though it were his fault. 

“You can stay here. She’ll be in in a minute,” the nurse said gruffly, turning to leave. “Just have a seat. It won’t be long.”

The door banged shut behind him, and Bucky jumped. 

He didn’t know why he’d agreed to this, because he wasn’t the least bit prepared. As if he could ever  _ prepare.  _ His skin was clammy, and his right hand trembled. He clenched it into a fist on reflex —  _ don’t let the enemy see how afraid you are _ . They’d take advantage of it. 

He wondered where Jarvis was. He normally popped up right about now. It might have been because Bucky had snapped at him in the elevator — but he’d have liked to talk to someone friendly, even if it was just a computer. Even if he was a little annoying sometimes, Jarvis was… nice. And he was the only person Bucky had talked to consistently over the last few days. 

The door banged open again, startling him out of his thoughts. The tall nurse entered, followed by Dr. Cho and another nurse. Bucky had to wonder what they needed so many people for.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes,” Dr. Cho said, pausing in front of him. “How are you?”

“I’m… fine,” he said. He felt anything but. 

“I’m glad. I just wanted to do a couple of scans today. Check up on your collarbone and your shoulder, I think. And we should do a blood test. I had one a while back, of course — and as far as we can tell, you have a serum identical to Captain Rogers’s. But I want to do more tests to verify.”

He nodded silently, trying to ignore what she was saying. He’d let her do whatever she wanted with him, and she would let him go. If he didn’t think about it, he was less likely to panic, which was the mistake he’d made last time. He’d wanted to know  _ everything _ they were doing, which had only made the examination worse. 

He’d do better this time. 

Dr. Cho pulled on a pair of black rubber gloves. He watched apprehensively. Both the nurses had left while she was talking, and he had no idea where they’d gone. 

“I’m going to need to run the scans first,” she said. “I’m using the handheld this time, so we’ll stay here. You’re all set up over there?”

There was a noise of confirmation from behind him, and he turned to look. The taller nurse was standing at a bank of computers on one end of the room, tablet in hand. He must be there to take notes on whatever Dr. Cho did, Bucky decided. Innocent enough. But the other nurse was still nowhere to be found. He tried not to think about where she might be. 

Dr. Cho picked up the scanner, which was a small, round object. It looked as though it were made of glass, and there was a handle protruding from the end. He might have been curious about it if it wasn’t terrifying. 

“This will only take a moment,” she assured him. He imagined that her voice had a sinister, threatening quality to it. 

She passed the instrument up and down his arm, across his shoulder and his collarbone. It brushed against his exposed skin, where there was still a pale bruise visible above his shirt collar. He flinched visibly, panicking a little and trying to pull back. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, catching his balance. 

“We’re done,” she said quickly, setting the scanner down again. 

A soft huff of annoyance from behind him told Bucky that they  _ weren’t  _ done. Dr. Cho was just being nice — shame washed over him and he looked down at the floor, his face going red. “Are you sure?” He asked quietly. “I’m okay.”

“Yes,” she said patiently. “We’re done. Just the blood test, if you’re up for it, and then you can go.”

_ The blood test.  _ He’d forgotten that part. The pit of dread in his stomach seemed to double in weight, and he swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “I can do the blood test.”

He just wouldn’t think about it. He wouldn’t look at the blood or think about the needle in his arm, and it would be over before he knew it. He’d always  _ hated  _ blood. The sight — and currently, the thought — of blood made him feel sick and dizzy, and he wanted to be anywhere but here. At least it would be over in a few minutes. He could go back to his room. Maybe Steve would call. He had that to look forward to. 

The other nurse came back in, carrying a metal tray. She carried it in such a way that he couldn’t see most of its contents, but as she set it down, he caught sight of a syringe with a long, thin needle. Chills scraped down his spine, and he quickly looked away. 

In the background, she and Dr. Cho talked quietly. Bucky couldn’t make out what they were saying, and he didn’t care. 

The nurse picked up the tray again with a metallic clatter. She put it on the smaller table next to where he was sitting. “I’ll be quick, Mr. Barnes. I promise. You'll hardly even feel a thing.”

He nodded mutely. He was  _ petrified,  _ and she and the others could tell. They just wanted him out of here quickly before he lost it, and he didn’t blame them. He hadn’t done anything that anyone would consider dangerous so far, but even he knew that he was more than capable. 

She prepped him for the blood test, and he tried not to pay attention to what she was doing. It was taking a while.

“You’ll feel a little pinch,” she said at last, “In three… two… one.”

He felt it, sure enough, and he didn’t even flinch — he’d braced himself that time. It wasn’t even that bad. 

“Ah, sorry. I have to do it again.” She’d missed it the first time, he thought with dread.  _ How long would this take?  _ “Three, two… one.” 

This time, she found it. It wasn’t her fault. His veins were always hard to find — it was a pain in the ass, every time. God, he hated blood tests. He sat still, staring straight ahead and ignoring the sensation of the needle in his arm as she drew the blood. 

It was taking an impossibly long time. He told himself,  _ don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.  _ Impossibly, his strategy seemed to work. He was… calm. His heart rate had slowed to a reasonable level. His skin still felt cold and clammy, but not as much as it had been a few minutes ago. It was just a little needle, after all. Not so bad. He had things under control. 

“All done,” she said. 

That was when he made the mistake of looking. 

She was smoothing a band-aid over the place where the needle had been. The syringe lay on the tray, sealed. The blood in it was thick and dark, and the syringe was so  _ full _ — he swallowed down a wave of nausea, trying to look away. His head couldn’t seem to turn. 

He was relieved when she picked up the tray and set it on the counter, well out of his way. 

Dr. Cho and the taller nurse had been looking at something on the computer screens this whole time. Dr. Cho looked up to see that they were done and broke into a smile. “All right. You can go,” she said. “If there’s anything else I need you to know, I’ll have Jarvis let you know so that we can discuss it when it comes up. But as of right now, you don’t need another appointment for a while — not until next week, anyway.” 

He nodded silently. If he opened his mouth, he was afraid he’d be sick. 

“I’ll walk you back upstairs,” the nurse said, a worried look in his eyes as he turned away from the computers. “Come on. Are you going back to your room?”

Bucky nodded again. 

The nurse led him down the hall and into the elevator, pressing the button for him. It took ages just to travel up two floors to his room. 

When they arrived, the nurse didn’t go with him. “Staff isn’t allowed on residential floors,” he explained when he glanced back at him. He put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving it a stiff sort of squeeze. 

He nodded jerkily, stepping back out into the hall. His head swam, his stomach churning with nausea — it seemed to worsen with each step towards his room. Jarvis hadn’t spoken to him this entire time, which made him wonder, again, if he was angry with him. He regretted snapping at him. It would be nice to have his help right now. 

Quickly, he stumbled into his room, shutting the door behind him and sliding the deadbolt across it. The last thing he wanted was someone coming in. Feeling as though he would really,  _ definitely _ be sick, he staggered to the bathroom and knelt down in front of the toilet. He retched, but nothing came up. He hadn’t eaten today — that was why. His stomach cramped, making him gasp, and he sank back against the edge of the bathtub. The bathroom was so small and so _claustrophobic_ , and all he wanted to do was to get out, but there was nowhere for him to go...

_ Sir, it appears that you’re in the midst of having a panic attack. Should I call someone? _

Jarvis’s voice cut through the silence like a knife, a spike of pain stabbing through Bucky’s head.

“Shut  _ up, _ ” he gasped without thinking. “ _ Please. _ ”

The room was deathly silent again, as though neither of them had ever said a word. Bucky was alone. 

He leaned back against the cold, porcelain side of the bathtub. His breathing was unnaturally shallow, and he couldn’t seem to get a full breath in even as he tried. That only made things worse, and his rough breathing turned into painful little gasps as he began to hyperventilate. He curled up, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his head against them. Tears trickled down, slowly at first but faster and faster. He made no effort to wipe them away.

Every so often, the image of the blood-filled syringe flashed through his mind again. At first, it was just the syringe — the one from Dr. Cho’s office — but gradually it became a different instrument altogether, countless instruments, all covered in blood and all aimed at  _ him.  _ He didn’t know where they’d come from so suddenly or why he couldn’t seem to forget them. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something he should remember, but he couldn’t imagine what it could be or why he would want to try. He just wanted to forget all of it. 

The walls of the bathroom closed in on him further, the porcelain bathtub icy against his skin, even through his thin t-shirt. He shivered violently, taking another gasping breath that turned into a sob halfway through. 

_ Sir.  _

It was Jarvis again, apparently unbothered by the scoldings Bucky had given him.  _ Thank god.  _

He took a deep, shuddery breath and lifted his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his right hand. “Jarvis...?”

_ It’s me. You refused my help before, but you are incapable of handling the situation on your own. Would you like me to call someone for you? _

His first instinct was to refuse — he had no one to talk to. No one would help him. A doctor would want to do another medical examination, which would start the whole thing over again. 

But what about Steve? He’d probably be busy, but what if he wasn’t? 

He didn’t know how much he’d be able to help with a thing like this, but it was worth  _ trying.  _ If he didn’t answer, then Bucky had nothing to worry about. Despite what Jarvis said, he was  _ perfectly capable _ of handling this on his own. He’d be fine. 

“Call Steve, please.” His voice cracked a little — the “please” had come out far too high-pitched. It was embarrassing, even now. His voice hadn’t cracked like that in… ages. 

_ As you wish, sir.  _

“Thank you.” 

He sank back against the side of the bathtub. Talking to Jarvis had helped him calm down. He was calm and analytical, and he always knew exactly what to do.

His hands were still shaky and his heart beat too fast, but knowing that he had someone to help him helped, too. Steve would be here soon. He probably hadn’t been expecting a call like  _ this _ , but Bucky didn’t care. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice rang out suddenly and loudly. 

“Hey — hey, Steve.” He took another shaky breath and ran a self-conscious hand over his face, as if he could see him. 

“Jarvis told me what happened. Are you okay?” Steve sounded so genuinely worried, and it was so  _ sweet  _ that it could have made him break down all over again. 

“I’m fine, Steve. I’m… I’m fine, I promise. I feel better now.” 

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Do you want me to come over? I can bring you something to eat like I did yesterday, if you’re hungry. There’s a really nice Italian place that’s right on my way over.”

“Yeah. Okay. That sounds good.” He was surprised by how much he wanted to see him again — and food sounded amazing. He was  _ starving.  _ The panic attack had taken a lot out of him. And it would be good to have some company. Actually have someone over, not just Jarvis. 

“I’ll be over really soon, okay? I’ll call the restaurant and order our food, and I’ll be right there.” 

“You’re not… busy?”

“...No.” 

Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a lie, but he couldn’t bring himself to call him out. “I’ll see you in a bit, then?”

“Yeah. Few minutes. Bye, Bucky.” 

“Bye.” 

And he was gone. Bucky sat back against the bathtub again with a soft sigh. Steve would be over in less than an hour, probably. And he’d bring him something to eat.  _ Italian,  _ this time. What could he possibly have done to deserve someone as wonderful as Steve?

He needed to get himself cleaned up if Steve was coming over. He stood up stiffly — his back ached — and went to look for a change of clothes.


	7. Another Dinner Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooo boy I almost didn't post this one. I was supposed to go to a football game today but I stayed home to do homework instead, and, well, let's just say I finished early. 
> 
> yay!

Steve arrived in no time at all. He knocked softly just as Bucky was getting dressed. He pulled on a t-shirt and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it down before he opened the door. 

The shocked, horrified look on Steve’s face told him that he looked like complete shit. He wouldn’t have cared, except that Steve seemed so… upset about it. His eyes went wide and his mouth trembled minutely before he pulled himself together again. 

“Are you coming in?” Bucky asked, his eyes downcast. 

“Yeah.” Steve sighed. His voice was heavy with poorly concealed shame. “Sorry.”

Bucky stood aside to let him in. He set the plastic bags he’d been carrying on the table and turned to face him again. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. 

“I’m _fine,_ ” he insisted. “Come on. I’m hungry.” He didn’t want to talk about it — he was afraid that it would start the cycle over again, and Steve would be left to deal with the resulting panic attack. 

But to his relief, he shook his head. “Fine. I’m hungry, too. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

Bucky sat down at his usual place at the table, and Steve sat across from him, starting to open the bags and take everything out. It came in tin foil containers, this time, not plastic. It smelled _incredible_ — he hadn’t realized just how hungry he’d been until now. 

Steve handed him one of the containers, with a fork, and he opened it. _Chicken Parmesan._ His favorite. 

“How’d you know to get Chicken Parmesan?” He asked, glancing up at him. 

He shrugged noncommittally. “Just had a hunch,” he said vaguely. 

“It’s my favorite,” he pressed. He didn’t know how Steve kept picking the perfect food for him — he’d done it last time, too, with the tomato soup. It was uncanny, and he wanted to know how he did it. Of course, it was more than likely that he was just lucky, but it struck him as odd. He hadn’t so much as bothered to ask him what he wanted to eat. 

“Yeah, I know, it’s really good.” Steve said, perfectly casual. “I eat here all the time. I’ve tried just about everything on their menu.”

If he had some kind of secret mind-reading abilities, he clearly wasn’t telling, so Bucky went quiet. He ate in silence, glad for the opportunity to scarf down as much of his food as he could. It was incredible, and he was _ravenous._

Steve ate more slowly, glancing up at him now and again in curiosity. 

Bucky met his eyes once or twice in a moment of awkward silence. The silence started to get to him, and he tried to come up with something to say. It was difficult to make small talk with someone he barely knew — and Steve didn’t seem at all interested in conversation. 

Finally, he looked up from his food. “I talked to Tony last night.”

“Did you?” Steve was politely curious, as far as Bucky could tell. Nothing more. 

“Yeah. I asked him about a lot of things, and he told me so much — most of it’s gotta be bullshit. You should have heard him.” He laughed softly. “But there’s one part that I was curious about. It seemed almost plausible.”

“And what was that?” The look on Steve’s face had shifted from casual, polite curiosity to something far more intense. He sat forward in his seat. 

“He told me we used to know each other. Used to live together. In —” he broke off with a chuckle. “In the _1940s._ I don’t believe that part, but did we know each other? Before… all this? I think it’s my imagination, but you seem familiar.”

“We — we knew each other. Yeah. Long time ago.” He looked down at the tabletop. “The part about the forties was true, too, Bucky. I know it’s a lot to believe, but…”

“No, I believe _you.”_ Bucky was startled by how _much_ he believed it. All of it — he’d just needed a second source. He’d believe damn near anything, as long as it came from Steve.

“You — you do?” 

“What, are you lying to me?” The wide-eyed, shocked look on his face had made him wonder if he really _was_ lying. Surely, not?

“No — no, of course not!” Steve said hastily. “It’s just… it’s so _crazy._ I don’t know how to explain properly. I wouldn’t have expected you to believe me in a million years, but... thank you.”

He didn’t understand why he was thanking him, but he nodded anyway. “What it was like back then? It was so long ago, and everything must have been so… different.” 

“You don’t remember?”

The crestfallen look on Steve’s face was almost too much to bear. He’d disappointed him, and he looked so sad that suddenly the only thing in the world he wanted was to make him feel better. 

“Will you tell me?” He asked.

The effect was instantaneous: he sat forward again, his shoulders no longer hunched, an eager, hopeful smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

“I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted. “Will you tell me — tell me where we lived? I want to know what it was like back then. Compared to this.” 

He remembered nothing of the 1940s. He’d hardly been aware of any particular part of his past, save for the little flashes he got now and then when he thought too hard on it. He didn’t care for those — and none of them came with a date, anyway. 

Steve nodded. “I don’t know where to start, either. I moved in with you pretty late — after high school. My ma died, so you… you offered. We moved in together for a good few years. The place wasn’t all that nice. Or, well… not nice at all, actually. Especially not compared to this.”

Bucky listened, already rapt. 

“It was this shitty little apartment I found. The rent was next to nothing. I was sick all the time and I couldn’t work, so you had to pay for all of it, _and_ take care of me, _and_ cook, and… yeah. I wish I’d been more help.” He sighed. “We moved into this little apartment. It was here, in New York someplace. It was run-down then, and I doubt it’s still standing now. If it were, I’d take you. It was this big, brick building. Whole bunch of floors. Thin walls. The works. You had a job at a lot of different places. Worked as a waiter in some fancy restaurant for a while.”

“Normal jobs?” He asked. That sounded highly suspect. He couldn’t imagine a regular nine-to-five job for the life of him. Was that what _Steve_ did, when he wasn’t off doing “missions” with Tony? 

“Yeah. Normal jobs,” he confirmed. “Waiter, warehouse worker. You got a job as a cook in this diner down the street from the apartment, and you were _over the moon_ about it.”

“Did I cook?” Bucky asked. Steve made it sound like he had. He might have even enjoyed it. 

“Yeah,” Steve said with a wistful smile. “You made the best damn chicken soup. I miss it, sometimes.”

“I could try and make it again?” He suggested hesitantly. 

His eyes lit up. “Could you? I mean — if we can find a recipe and if it’s not too much trouble. You used to make it all the time when I was sick. I try to make it myself, sometimes, but it never turns out the same.” 

Bucky looked away, unable to meet Steve’s suddenly mournful gaze. He didn’t know why he was so emotional. The idea of the two of them living together, or whatever else they had done, didn’t strike him as anything particularly special. He’d just been curious. It was a strange story. But it meant something to Steve, and guilt was starting to nag at him, because he didn’t care the same way Steve did. He had no reason to, but the hurt look in his eyes was _painful._ He wished he felt the same way. 

He sighed, looking down at his plate. “Yeah. I’ll make it sometime, if you want. Just tell me when?” 

Steve nodded, his eyes still sad but _very_ blue. Bucky got the impression that he could see right through him. “Maybe Saturday?” He suggested. 

“That sounds good to me,” Bucky said, smiling slightly. He hadn’t expected Steve to want to see him on Saturday at all, after all this. “But if you want, I can cook. And you can show me around this place?” 

“Of course.” Steve shot him a bright smile, picking up his fork again. “I’d love to.”

He reflected on their short conversation in silence as he finished eating. It had been so _strange_ — Steve’s mood had changed so quickly that it was as if he just didn’t know what to do with himself. And hell, maybe he didn’t. Bucky didn’t know how to empathize — where to begin? It was all so confusing. 

Steve was his long-lost friend — _roommate?_ He acted as though Bucky was an old lost lover of his. He didn’t understand why he got so emotional over the smallest things, like the soup that he’d evidently used to make. He didn’t remember it. He didn’t remember their apartment, or the food, or his jobs. He didn’t think he could still cook, even if he wanted to. 

He and Steve didn’t even get along. Steve only showed up when he felt like he owed him something, or when Bucky asked. He’d stormed out in the middle of his first visit — neither of them had acknowledged that since. 

Bucky looked up at Steve thoughtfully. The two of them were both still eating, perfectly quiet and focused on their food. 

He could ask him about it now. It wouldn’t hurt any more than it had the first time, most likely. And it had been bothering him for weeks. There was a small chance that it would result in another breakdown, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to know. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asked, setting down his fork in the empty tin foil tray. 

“Yeah?” He looked hopeful now. As if whatever Bucky asked would be some innocent little question about their past. He had no reason not to believe that, and Bucky felt bad for not making it true. 

“Do you remember what I said to you, when we met… or, well, when we saw each other a couple of weeks ago? About the Winter Soldier?” 

Steve went tense, his back and shoulders drawn taught. He sat up in his chair and surveyed Bucky with narrowed, suspicious eyes. But he didn’t look angry. “I remember that. Yeah.” 

“Why did you — why did you react the way you did?” He already regretted asking the question. Steve was going to make him pay for it dearly. He’d been scared and angry before, but why, oh, _why_ couldn’t Bucky learn his lesson? 

He looked down at the tabletop again. His shoulders sagged. It was a long time before he answered, and while he didn’t look angry, exactly, Bucky wondered if he would get an answer at all. 

Finally, he spoke. 

“That was when everything seemed real,” he said. “I hadn’t accepted it until then. It was just… like a dream, for me. I had my best friend back. Everything was going to be fine as soon as he got out of the hospital bed.” He sighed shakily. “That was when I realized that you weren’t him at all. I was scared I’d never get you back.” 

“Did you?” Bucky asked, before he could stop himself. “Did you get me back — am I like you remember?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Steve said softly. “I’m sorry. But I’m glad to have you, even if… even if you aren’t the same person who I used to know.” 

He smiled lopsidedly. The gesture hurt a little. He was out of practice. “Thanks, Steve.” 

He met his eyes, and they were startlingly watery — slightly bloodshot. He looked away again, and by the time he looked back, it was as if nothing had happened. He must have imagined it. He couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong, anyway. 

“I… I’m sorry,” Steve said. It was the gentlest he’d heard him speak yet. “I should have explained before.” 

Bucky nodded. “It’s okay. I know — it scared you. It scared me, too, because I didn’t remember it up until you asked. I don’t remember everything. Not much at all, just bits and pieces. Who… who was I? As the Winter Soldier, I mean.”

“You’re sort of… infamous,” he said haltingly. “Everybody knows the name. It’s like — well, I’ve heard it referred to as a ghost story. Every once in a while, somebody important gets assassinated and later a theory turns up that it was — that it was… you know. I never thought in a million years that it would be real, never mind that it was _you.”_

“Do you know that it was me?” Bucky asked. It was just something he’d said after he’d woken up. It might not have even been true, or he could hope, anyway.

“No,” he said. “There’s no evidence that the Winter Soldier exists at all.”

But what he’d said — _“They called me the Winter Soldier”_ — hadn’t left room for doubt. He wanted to hope, that maybe it was just some urban legend that he and Steve had heard at some point in the 1940s. Maybe, somehow, that of all things had stuck with him, and he’d just gotten mixed up about it between then and now. 

“I know,” he said softly. “I hope — I hope I was wrong.” 

“Me, too.” Steve sighed. “I’m sorry, Buck. It wasn’t — it wasn’t fair of me. I freaked out so damn much and I stormed out on you like that. You didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I understand why you did.” He smiled ruefully. “I scared you. I’m sorry, too, Stevie. I don’t think it’s even true — I’d know if it was, and… anyway. I’m sorry.” 

But he’d lied — not in the apology itself, because he _regretted_ everything he’d said that had made Steve run away like that. He doubted he’d ever regretted anything more in his life. The lie had been about the Winter Soldier. He was absolutely certain that it had been true. He remembered more than enough to back it up: scattered memories, a voice here and there, with words he couldn’t understand, an icy, Arctic night, pain like an electric current running through his body. Seeing the metal arm lying on a table in front of him, the red paint shining as if it had been applied that day. 

He hadn’t made those things up. He was the Winter Soldier, but if Steve wanted to believe that he was innocent, he’d let him. 

They’d both fallen silent. It was a tense, uncomfortable silence, and Bucky found that he didn’t like it in the slightest. 

“I’ve got another meeting soon,” Steve said softly. “I’ll have to go and get ready.” 

“Oh,” Bucky said. “Yeah. You don’t want to be late. I’ll clean up here.” 

He started to gather up their trash from the table, and Steve hurried to help him. 

“What kind of meeting is it?” Bucky asked, breaking the silence that had again fallen over the two of them. He was curious — Steve led such a strange life, from what he’d told him. He was _mysterious._ It just made him want to know more. 

“Nothing special,” he said with a noncommittal little shrug. “Just some people checking in on… um, business stuff. Not the kind of thing I’m used to dealing with, but now that we’ve got new people — that’s you — living in the tower, there’s all kinds of stuff to do. And Tony doesn’t want to do any of it, which means he left it to me.” 

“Oh.” That all sounded very strange to him. It hadn’t occurred to him that anyone would have to make any kind of _adjustments_ for him. He didn’t think he liked the sound of it, but he couldn’t very well try to stop them. “Okay. Well… have fun?”

“Will do,” Steve said, shooting him a dazzling smile. 

Bucky laughed. “I’ll see you on Saturday, then?”

“Yeah. I’ll call you sometime before, if that’s okay,” he agreed. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ve really got to go, though. Or I’ll be late.”

“Okay,” he said with an awkward little nod. “Bye, Steve.”

“Bye.” He smiled softly — he had such a pretty smile — and with that, he turned to leave, and Bucky was alone again.

It was late now, after seven. He hoped he hadn’t made him late for his meeting. _What if he got in trouble?_ He decided not to worry about it. He didn’t know what kind of trouble Steve could even get in. It was just a meeting. No big deal. 

With the table cleared and nothing else for him to do, he made his way over to the bathroom to take a shower. He’d go to bed early tonight. He was exhausted.

He did feel better, though. The food had helped a lot, and so had talking to Steve. He’d been… nice. Learning about the forties had cheered him up, too, and even talking about the Winter Soldier had taken something off his chest. It was one less thing to worry about, anyway. He couldn't help but think that Steve might not be so hard to deal with after all.


	8. Night Out, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting from my phone, because I spilled coffee in my laptop. It’ll be okay, but boy, I’m glad I’m using google docs right now. 
> 
> Also, yeah, I’m a week late on this chapter and it’s nearly Sunday. And it’s not even the whole chapter. I was swamped with homework this week and honestly I barely made it, but this week isn’t so bad. I might update Tuesday or Wednesday to make up for it, but y’all, this is gonna happen a lot, I’m afraid. I’m not dead though, I promise, just doing my chemistry homework.

Nothing else went wrong in between Thursday and Saturday. Bucky spent some time ordering groceries, but Jarvis did most of it. All Bucky had to do was tell him what he wanted, and the groceries were outside his door within two hours. It was incredible. 

He’d been bored, mostly. There was nothing to do, tucked away in his room for days with no one but Jarvis for company. He  _ liked  _ Jarvis, but he could only keep a conversation going for so long. 

Today, though, a lovely Saturday afternoon, Steve had finally called, as promised. They’d already agreed to have dinner together, of course, but any chance to talk to another person — particularly Steve — was welcome. 

But Steve had had a proposition. He’d wanted Bucky to come out and meet a friend of his. They would show him around the tower together, so that they could get to know each other. So Steve said, anyway. Bucky found the whole prospect terrifying, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no. He’d be fine. Steve had turned out to be nice, after all. How bad could this Sam person be?

He quickly began to regret his decision. Even if Steve  _ was  _ nice, Sam certainly wouldn’t be the same. He’d treat him the same way Steve had, when he’d heard about the Winter Soldier, but he didn’t have a past with Sam, that he knew of, so they would never be able to make it up to each other again. 

* * *

He went anyway. It would be rude to blow Steve off, and anyway, he really did want to go. It would just take some effort on his part.

He got dressed quickly, in nicer clothes than he was used to, but nothing  _ too  _ nice. And he put shoes on. That was an important step, even if they weren’t going anywhere. 

Steve had said to meet him out in the lounge. It was on his floor, at least. He’d given him directions and everything: “out, down the hall, past the kitchen, and to the left.” He did his best to follow them. They were easy, at least he thought they were, because he ended up in what could be described as a lounge. The problem was that Steve wasn’t there. 

He started to worry that he was in the wrong place, and mentally retraced his steps. The directions had been easy to follow. The kitchen door was visible from where he was sitting, and the hallway last that. Definitely the right place. 

But where was Steve, then? 

He stood up and began to pace anxiously. Had he blown him off, after all this? That was his first thought. In his mind, Steve didn’t seem capable of such a thing, but he didn’t actually know him that well at all. They were… casual friends, at best. If he had somewhere more important to be, why wouldn’t he choose that over Bucky?

He sank dejectedly back into his seat on the couch. It was soft and plush, some sort of suede material. It wasn’t as comfortable as his bed, but it was still  _ luxurious _ , by most people’s standards. Bucky’s standards were, if anything, lower than average. 

The couch distracted him. He was easily distracted these days. He couldn’t help himself. The tower was so  _ comfortable _ — and on top of that, everything was so bizarrely, outlandishly high-tech that he couldn’t help but be fascinated. It was paradise, and he almost fell asleep, too, but someone cleared their throat behind him, and he sat up again, scrambling to turn around and see who it was. 

“Shit, Steve!” He grumbled, blinking in the sudden bright light. “What did you turn that on for?”

“What, were you taking a nap or something?” Steve asked, grinning. He came around the side of the couch and sat down across from him. “Brought someone for you to meet.” 

A second man came into view. He waved, a small, shy smile on his face. There was a gap between his front teeth. “You’re Bucky?” He asked. “My name’s Sam. I… work here sometimes.”

“That’s me.” Bucky nodded weakly. He hadn’t expected to meet Sam  _ immediately _ . He’d thought Steve would at least give him some time to prepare, or a warning — but Sam was  _ right there,  _ larger than life. Probably not medical personnel, but Bucky wouldn’t put it past Steve to sneak in a medical exam at a time like this. 

Sam grinned. “Weird name, Bucky. I like it.” 

“Thanks…?” He said slowly. “Sam. Kinda bland, actually. Can I call you Sammy?” 

“No, you can not,” Sam said. “That’s reserved for my mom,  _ Bucky. _ ” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. Before he could say anything, though, Steve decided to intervene. He cleared his throat. “Guys. I’m glad you’re hitting it off, but keep the arguing to a minimum, please, or I’m gonna be obligated to warn you, Buck — “

“Buck?” Sam repeated. “What’s that, a nickname for a nickname? Can I call you that?” 

“Nope,” Bucky said tartly. 

Steve watched the two of them with amusement. Bucky got the feeling that he wanted to intervene, because who would want to sit and watch them bicker for the rest of the night. Now that Sam had started it, neither of them was ever going to stop, which was already quite apparent. 

“All right then,” Sam said with a little shrug, doing Steve’s job for him. “Good talk. Steve said something about showing you around?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “Just for a little bit. Can’t show him everything, but the normal stuff, maybe?”

Sam looked Bucky appraisingly up and down. “Yeah. Nothing  _ too  _ crazy.” He flashed him a small, mischievous smile. Bucky didn’t have any idea what that was about. 

“Should we go now?” Steve asked, already standing up and therefore not giving the others much of a choice in the matter. “It’s late... I know you’ve got an appointment later, Sam.”

Bucky stood up, too, and stretched. He’d been sitting a long time. “What is there to show me?” He asked. He hardly knew what was even on the floor, aside from the lounge, the kitchen, the elevator, and the empty rooms. He’d never even left the building, that he could recall, but judging by the number of buttons in the elevator, it was enormous. The idea of having to actually know his way around intimidated him. 

“Plenty of stuff,” Sam said offhandedly, getting up and following them out of the lounge. “There’s a really nice gym. And a swimming pool… weapons room, the dining room. Lots of other stuff, too. You’ll see.”

“What was that one in the middle?” Bucky asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“The pool? What about it?” 

“No, the — never mind.” Sam had been joking, he realized too late. It was too bad 

“Yeah. You’ll like it,” Steve said, with almost the same mischievous smile Sam had had earlier. “But… really, there’s so much to show you. The place is huge, and it takes forever to learn your way around, but once you get used to it, it’s amazing.” 

He didn’t doubt it for a moment. He’d already seen so many crazy things without even leaving his room — with the exception of Tony. He did want to see Tony again. He was interesting, easy to talk to… handsome. Very, very smart. Funny, even. Bucky didn’t know what to think about him, exactly, but he did want another chance to talk to him, especially now that he was seeing Steve more regularly. He had more questions than ever, and if anyone could answer them, it was Tony. 

“Yeah. I know,” he said absently. “It’s nice — I’ve seen a few things already. I do like it.”

“You haven’t seen  _ anything  _ so far, Buck.” Sam led the little group through the lounge and down a hallway, one that Bucky hadn’t noticed until he was inside it. “This is the residential floor. One of them, anyway. It’s the bigger one, so the gym and the pool and everything are right here. The rest of the rooms are a floor or two up. I think you’re the only one on the floor though, actually. Got the place to yourself.”

He was a good tour guide, Bucky reflected as they made their way down the hall towards the gym. “Am I allowed to leave this floor?” He asked offhandedly. 

He didn’t expect to be — no one in their right mind would trust him to explore the entire building unsupervised. 

“‘Course you are,” Steve said, to his surprise. “You’ve been on the one floor this whole time?”

“Well… no. Have to go downstairs for Dr. Cho, but other than that…” He shook his head. “Haven’t had much of a reason to leave, I guess.”

Sam was watching him — his eyes were wide and owl-like. He did his best not to notice. 

“To be fair, there isn’t much to see outside the residential floors,” Steve said. “You’d probably have gotten bored, anyway. But weapons and training are upstairs — you’ll like those. And you’re definitely allowed to use them,” he added with what Bucky took to be a touch of pride. 

“Right.” He couldn’t tell if Steve and Sam were messing with him anymore. It raised a lot of questions about the Tower, if it was real. He’d have to find Tony so he could ask him. Maybe he’d make a list of things he wanted to know. 

Sam was still watching him owlishly, but he didn’t say anything else on the matter. “The gym and the pool are up ahead,” he said instead, definitely making an effort to sound like a tour guide. “Not too far from the residential suites — that’s what Tony likes to call them.”

There was a set of double doors at the end of the hall. Bucky watched in amazement as they swung open without being prompted. Everything about this place was so incredibly high-tech. There was nothing about it that wouldn’t impress him, he thought. 

They made their way through the doors and into an enormous, wide-open area that smelled faintly of chlorine.

“Pool’s that way,” Sam said, gesturing towards it. It could be seen through the wall to their left, which happened to be made of glass. 

Bucky wandered over to examine it. The room was enormous — easily the same size as the one he was currently standing in. The back wall was made entirely of glass, and the opposite wall was, too, but part of it opened up onto a patio, and the pool extended outside. Below, he could see the city lights glowing a pale yellow-orange color against the mostly-darkened sky. It was lovely — he wanted to sit out here for the rest of the night, if he could. Steve might even like to draw it. 

He was alone, though. Steve and Sam were standing together at the other end of the room, talking quietly. What they were discussing was anyone’s guess, and he didn’t want to interfere. He crossed the room quietly so that they could check out the gym while they talked. 

It was bigger than any gym he’d ever seen. It seemed a little extravagant, in his opinion. The lights had been off, but they flickered on when he approached, and the doors opened wide. When the lights turned on, he could see every kind of equipment he’d ever heard of, all spread out across the enormous, cavernous room. There were good, old-fashioned punching bags, mats that he assumed were for sparring — a target with what he could assume were bullet holes in the corner. There were what looked like thousands of other things, too, some that he could name and some, or most, that he couldn’t. 

“I’d love to let you inside and really show you around, but I’m not allowed in there,” Sam said bitterly, looking over his shoulder into the darkened gym. 

“Why’s that?” Bucky asked smugly. 

“Tony caught me and Steve screwing around in there. Kicked us out.” 

“Yeah.” Steve came up on his other side — had he been listening in? “We said we didn’t know about the ‘no flying’ rule in there, but he didn’t listen.” 

“The—” he looked between the two of them, his eyes wide. “You’re screwing with me, aren’t you.” He shook his head in mock disappointment, turning away to head back out into the hallway. 

The other two followed him slowly, as the lights flickered off behind them and the doors shut. 

“Next up is the dining room,” Sam said. “Not the most exciting thing ever, but it’s good to know where it is, and anyway, we’re saving the best for last.” 

“And what’s that?” Bucky asked, more curious than anxious now. He had no reason to be — Steve was right beside him. 

“You’ll see, you’ll see,” Sam said patiently. 

He huffed softly and fell silent as they walked the rest of the way to the dining room. 

* * *

It was on the same residential floor as everything else, it seemed like. That was nice for him — everything he might ever need was within arm’s reach. Sam pointed out a few more things as they went: the kitchen, of course, which they’d already passed. The particularly cozy fireplace in the lounge. The little room off the lounge that they used for movie nights, sometimes. 

_ Movie nights.  _ Who attended those? He might be able to go to one, sometime. He was surprised by just how much he liked the idea. Steve could go, too. He’d discovered that he liked spending his time with him, and why wouldn’t he? He was sweet, and patient, and understanding, and more importantly still, he  _ liked  _ Bucky. It was embarrassing, how desperately he wanted to be liked. 

But soon enough, they’d reached the dining room. 

It was a big, rectangular room, almost cavernous, like a lot of the rooms in the tower seemed to be. One wall was the obligatory set of floor-to-ceiling windows that the designer seemed to love so much, and outside, as always, he could see the city lights. There wasn’t any kind of visible light source — not even a lamp — but the room had a sort of ethereal glow. The dining table was round, made of dark wood with comfortable, red-upholstered chairs seated around it. A set of cabinets lined one wall, their glass fronts displaying the elaborate dishes and silverware inside. It was easily the most luxurious display he’d ever seen. 

“We eat here together when we can,” Sam said, leaning on one of the chairs. “The team and me and Tony’s… er, girlfriend. We can bring guests. And you’ll be invited now that you’re here.”

“We cook, mostly,” Steve added. “You can help, if you want. I think they’ll all love your cooking.” 

Sam shot him a look that was more exasperated than anything, but he looked away again when Steve spotted it. Bucky watched all this in bewilderment, unsure what to think. 

“Right. So… upstairs, now?” Sam said. 

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded. “Not much to see here. 

The dining room admittedly wasn’t much to behold, even as magnificent as it was. There was probably a hidden trapdoor in the floor somewhere, given Tony’s other even more eccentric exploits, but he didn’t want to bore Steve and Sam by looking. He’d have to come back later. 

“Elevator’s right this way,” Sam said offhandedly, leading the group out into the hall and towards the elevator that Bucky had used just the other day. 

He  _ hated  _ elevators. “How many floors up is it?” He asked cautiously. Maybe they could just take the stairs — or if they really wanted the elevator, he could just walk up alone. 

“Seven,” Sam said, with a sympathetic glance in his direction. “Not too bad, if you wanna take the stairs instead?” 

He groaned inwardly. “Elevator’s fine.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god. I hate mobile ao3 so much. I need my laptop backkk


	9. Night Out, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, posting on time!  
> Physics is absolutely killing me but it's okay. 
> 
> Last time I posted at this time of night, it seemed to be really good for engagement. That or people read a heck of a lot of fanfiction on Sundays? Either way, I'm trying it again. It's so fun to experiment and see what works best!
> 
> I'm so tired.
> 
> Edit: Late TW, I'm very sorry. I'll get better about putting these in on time. TW: Steve's PTSD/paranoia

It was a tense elevator ride upstairs. Bucky got the feeling that Sam and Steve could tell how nervous he was. They kept their distance from him as if they were trying to give him space, but the elevator was still horribly claustrophobic. 

He stared at his warped, blurry reflection in the copper plating on the door, listening to the repetitive dinging sound that went off every time they passed another floor. Slowly, they totaled up to seven, and the elevator slowed to a halt. 

The doors opened and he stepped out hastily, glancing back at the other two when he remembered that he didn’t know where he was going. 

“Right this way,” Sam said, giving Bucky another appraising look. He purposely didn’t meet his eyes — it unnerved him. “We’re headed to weapons and training, and I think you’ll like it. Although… you won’t be allowed to participate for a while. Even if you really want to.” 

He didn’t know if he wanted to at all, or what he was getting into in the first place. It appeared that the weapons room was a real place after all, but he didn’t know what that meant for him. He did want to see it, though. 

Sam led the pair of them down the hall and around a corner, which opened up into a wide-open room. 

Bucky looked around in awe. Steve and Sam stood beside him, looking around at the place as if it were something as ordinary as a grocery store. 

It was smaller than the gym downstairs, by a long shot. It would have been cozy — decorated with warmly-colored lights and intricate, wooden shelves — except for what was on the shelves. There was everything from crossbows, to the tiniest pistol Bucky had ever seen, to an M16, encased in glass, to a full-size longsword. 

“We have a flamethrower,” Sam supplied helpfully. 

Bucky began to circle the room, his interest piqued. He felt Sam and Steve’s eyes on him, but that didn’t matter. He couldn’t say why he was so fascinated, exactly, but he didn’t care, either. Sam had said he “wouldn’t be allowed to participate” for a while. Whatever that meant. It sounded like something some old elementary school teacher would say about a kid who hadn’t turned in a permission slip on time. 

He hadn’t told him he couldn’t use these things. Not explicitly. 

He could still feel Steve and Sam’s eyes on him, though. When he glanced back, Sam was still standing in the doorway. Steve had moved from his spot and was standing near him now, examining a knife. He looked up from it and caught Bucky’s eye, already fumbling to put it back where it had come from on the shelf. 

Bucky watched him, his eyes wide and anxious. The knife in his hand unnerved him, even though he was (luckily) putting it back. Steve wasn't meant to be holding a weapon like that, but the way he held it — his grip firm but not too harsh, ready to strike at any moment — he caught himself backing away even as he put the knife back down. 

Steve saw him looking. He stepped away from the shelf as if to prove that he had no intention of grabbing another weapon, and Bucky wondered if he'd been that obvious. Of course, he had. "Buck...?" 

He shook his head, trying to clear it. "Sorry."

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't. You just — " He had scared him. The knife had terrified him out of his wits, for a moment. He'd thought he was going to be stabbed. The sight of Steve, of all people, holding a weapon — Steve, the one person he'd thought he'd be able to trust — was nothing short of a betrayal. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he hadn't meant him any harm. He trained here. He probably did this every day, and it had been a force of habit more than anything else. But that knowledge didn't make him feel better. 

From behind him, another set of footsteps approached, and he whirled around, his hand reaching behind him and groping blindly at the shelf for a weapon. Fortunately, he found none. 

It was only Sam. He stood there, watching the two of them silently for a beat before he spoke. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.” 

He did look sorry. Bucky’s hand had still been outstretched as he searched for a weapon on the shelf. He lowered it self-consciously. “It’s — it’s okay.” He’d already been skittish, anyway, after seeing Steve holding the knife. It was stupid. He was paranoid, and that was all, but he couldn’t help it, it seemed. 

“Do you want to head back downstairs? You look pale,” Sam pointed out. 

It was completely unnecessary, in Bucky’s opinion. He didn’t feel well, now that he mentioned it, and there was no way he looked well, either, so why even bother bringing it up? It was perfectly obvious. 

But Sam wasn’t rude about it. He was being nice, actually. The same way Steve did. 

“No — no, I’m okay, Sam,” he said. He stared down at the floor, his face changing from very pale to as flushed as it had ever been in seconds. He’d always been a terrible liar, but he also didn’t want to have to leave so soon. It would be impolite. 

Sam wasn’t paying him any attention, though. He was watching Steve, who was, again, holding the knife. 

Bucky’s entire body went cold and he took several quick steps back. It was nothing more than an instinctive reaction, though, because Steve’s posture was anything but offensive. In fact, he looked dejected, his fingers closed around the handle of the knife and his eyes locked on something that was etched into the blade. It caught the light and shimmered red as he turned it. 

“Steve,” Sam said. His voice was soft and patient, but he’d put himself between Steve and Bucky. “What are you doing?”

“Look,” he said, not so much as glancing up. 

He did. The two of them gathered around the weapon in Steve’s hand, effectively blocking Bucky from it. He’d already decided that he was in no danger, but this was, if anything, more disturbing. He couldn’t, for the life of him, imagine what they might be looking at. 

At last, Sam stepped back, holding the knife delicately so that Bucky would be able to see it without getting any closer than he wanted — or, God forbid, having to touch it. 

The blade was polished to a shine, nearly white. It glittered in the overhead lights. Bucky had to lean forward and squint a little to make out what was carved into the base, painted red. 

Beside Sam, Steve fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other, a pained look on his face. Bucky didn’t understand what the problem was. It was just a little, red star, entirely harmless as far as he knew. 

“What is it?” He asked finally. 

Pale-faced, Steve gestured wordlessly at Bucky. It took him a little while to realize what he meant, but when he did, he understood. It was the same mark that had been carved and painted onto his left arm. The Winter Soldier’s mark. How had he forgotten? He hastily set the knife back on the shelf, as if it had burned him. 

Sam cleared his throat. “Are you guys okay?” He asked, in a soft, gentle sort of voice that Bucky would never have expected to hear from him. 

Steve nodded. “Fine,” he said. 

Even Bucky could tell that he was anything but, but no one commented. Bucky himself only shook his head, trying to ward Sam off. He was fine, and they all knew it. The red star didn’t mean anything. 

It didn’t mean anything to him, anyway. The Winter Soldier was inactive. No one here — including Bucky — knew anything about him, let alone how to bring him back into action. They were safe, and the star was just a star. But he wished he knew what it was doing there. He didn’t like the sight of it, either. It made him feel vulnerable. The tower had been a safe place for him so far, but if HYDRA could find him here… that didn’t bode well for him.

“Bucky?” Someone called his name, and he was brought less-than-gently back to attention. 

He blinked. “Sorry.”

“I know that was upsetting for you to see,” Sam said. His voice was soft and slow, and if Bucky didn’t know better, he’d have thought that it was intentionally patronizing. But he didn’t mind. “Do you want to head back downstairs?” 

The direct question caught him off-guard, but he found himself nodding. “I’d… I’d like that. Yeah.”

He wondered how they knew it had upset him, or even what it was. He himself didn’t entirely know what it stood for, except HYDRA, but he most definitely hadn’t told them that. It might have been just a lucky guess, he supposed, because they were certainly right. 

For such a tiny design, it was terrifying. 

Steve seemed to have already agreed to go back because, without another word, the little group turned and trudged back the way they’d come. Bucky again resisted the urge to ask if he could take the stairs, or just to go, but he was too shy, anyway. He’d never have mustered up the courage. 

None of them spoke until they’d left the elevator and walked down the hall to Bucky’s room. They hadn’t seen everything — the tour had been cut short, but none of them was willing to continue. Bucky, for his part, wouldn’t have minded if Steve was all right with it, and Sam would have been perfectly happy to pretend that nothing had even happened, Bucky suspected. But Steve looked positively ill. His face was pale, and his footsteps were slow and labored. It was more than enough to make Bucky feel guilty for even agreeing to come in the first place. 

“I guess… this is it?” Bucky tried, as they stood in an awkward little cluster in front of his door.

“I’ve got an appointment soon,” Sam said, nodding. “I’ll have to leave for that, anyway. I’m sorry, guys.”

And he did look guilty. 

Steve didn’t say anything, only stood beside the door. He was still ashen-faced, refusing to look at Bucky. He’d glance at him occasionally, and it was as if he could feel his eyes on him. They burned, turning the back of his neck red. 

“It’s okay,” he said hastily, looking up at Sam and trying to ignore Steve. He didn’t understand what had gotten into him. It was the first Winter Soldier situation all over again, but worse this time. There were witnesses. “I should — I should head in soon, anyway.”

He and Steve had had plans to make dinner together, but he could only assume they’d be called off. Canceling it was the last thing he wanted to do, but it couldn’t be helped if Steve was sick. He was beginning to think that he didn’t feel well himself — there could’ve been something in the air. He’d have believed it, too, except for what he’d seen in weapons and training. 

He would make Steve something for dinner anyway, even if he didn’t end up staying over. As an apology.


	10. Jarvis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a good chapter. But it's angsty, and I feel like there should be a trigger warning, but I'm not sure how to word it exactly?   
> Let's go with TW: Bucky's loneliness/isolation, Steve's PTSD (vaguely mentioned)
> 
> If you feel that it should be changed (or that it's unnecessary), I'll gladly take your suggestion.

Steve and Bucky didn’t talk again for a while. Bucky wouldn’t have minded too much — he didn’t, at first — but he got lonely. Steve was the only person he could call a friend, by a long shot, except for Jarvis, so it stung more than it should have to be ignored. 

He went days without so much as calling, let alone visiting. Alone in his room and unwilling to go outside, Bucky gave up even talking to Jarvis. 

It never occurred to him that he should reach out to Steve. He’d planned to make him dinner, the night he’d gone out with him and Sam. By the time he’d finished, he’d convinced himself entirely that Steve was angry with him and that he wouldn’t want to see him anyway. And on top of that, he didn’t even know if he was still staying at the Tower, so there wasn’t much point in trying in the first place. 

* * *

  
  


He spent the rest of the next few days entertaining himself as best he could by cooking — he’d ordered plenty of groceries, so there was more than enough to go around — and reading a book that Jarvis recommended he order along with them. It was the best (and only) book he’d read in a while. Something about aliens, but underwater. He loved it. 

He was reading this book — and he’d just made it to the good part, too — when Jarvis interrupted him. 

_ Sir, I have some… information for you. It’s of a sensitive nature, and urgent. About Captain Rogers.  _

He sat up, dropping his book and losing his page in the process, but he hardly noticed. “What is it?”

_ The Captain has a message for me to relay to you. Would you like to hear it? _

“Yes.” His voice trembled, and so did his hands. He clenched them in his lap. 

_ He wishes to apologize for the way he behaved towards you three nights ago.  _

Jarvis went silent, and Bucky waited for the rest of the message. It didn’t come. 

“Is that it?” He asked, looking up at the ceiling as if Steve might appear there. He didn’t. 

_ That’s it, _ Jarvis confirmed. 

Bucky sank back onto the bed with a loud sigh and picked up his book, rifling in irritation through the pages as he tried to remember where he’d left off. That was what he got, for getting his hopes up like an idiot. Steve was sorry. Now what?

The room was silent, except for the occasional sound of a page turning. The air felt thick and tense, but he didn’t understand how that could even work, because he was the only human in the room. 

_ You seem upset,  _ Jarvis murmured, after what had to have been at least five minutes of this uncomfortable silence. 

“No shit,” Bucky said aloud, not looking up from his book. He regretted it immediately. He shouldn’t have been rude, even if Jarvis was just a computer and a mediocre one at that. “Sorry,” he muttered. 

_ Would you like more information?  _

“Do you have anything else?”

_ I have records of a technically _ confidential  _ conversation between Captain Rogers and Agent Samuel Wilson. I can override this confidentiality — within reason, of course — if it is for the mental health reasons of a third party. A useful little loophole I’ve found recently.  _

“Mental health — “ He decided not to ask. So what if Jarvis thought he was crazy. It was none of his business, was it? He’d take whatever he could get here. “Just tell me.”

_ The night of the… incident. You do know what I’m referring to? _

“Yeah. The recent one?”

_ That one. With the knife.  _

“When you put it that way, it sounds like there’s been a murder,” Bucky said. 

_ We’re on the same page? _

“Yes.”

_ Very good. As I was saying, the night of the incident. After you’d gone in for the night, Rogers and Wilson returned to Rogers’s room. They spent much of the night talking. I will… tell you the important parts. Rogers was upset, specifically, by the symbol on the knife he found in the weapons and training arena.  _

“Why?” 

_ It matches the one on your arm. You’re familiar with it, I trust? _

“Yeah, I’m familiar with it, but… I don’t understand why it upset him so much. He looked like he was gonna faint, Jarvis. I don’t even know how they knew it meant anything. It was just a star.” His voice grew petulant. He was frustrated — and he had every right to be. He had been for days, and no one had thought to even try to talk to him except for the damn computer. 

_ During the preparations for the rescue mission, the team happened across a few files on an entity called the “Winter Soldier.” We were unaware at the time that it was you, but we saved the files, anyway. Rogers has been reading up on them, since you revealed that you were, in fact, the Soldier. He feels guilty for putting you through that, and angry, and scared, too. The symbol is HYDRA’s mark for you. I don’t know what it was doing in the training arena, but it was their mark. It frightened him.  _

That all made very little sense to Bucky, but he didn’t know where to start asking questions. “He’s afraid of me?” He asked, taking a wild stab in the dark. 

_ In a way, yes. He likes you — likes spending time with you, and he was overjoyed to learn that you’d spoken to Tony about your past. He is afraid of the side of you that HYDRA created. The more he reads, and the more he learns, the more afraid he becomes. Seeing the star in a place he is so familiar with blindsided him. He didn’t know how to react. _

“Is he still reading?” He didn’t like the sound of that. Steve knew more about him than he knew about himself. 

_ More than ever. The writing is condensed into four volumes that he has in his possession. He finished both the second and the third in the past two nights.  _

“Will you ask him to stop?”

_ I cannot.  _

Bucky had just enough self-control left in him not to pick up his book and hurl it at the opposite wall. It was just unfair — he felt a little like a child, wanting to throw a tantrum — but it was. None of it was fair, and he didn’t know what to do. Steve was reading volumes upon volumes of information that he would never have wanted anyone to know or write down, or hell, that he hadn’t known about himself until mere moments ago. No one would make him stop, but, cruelly, it was Bucky’s fault that he’d started reading in the first place. 

He fell back on the bed, glaring up at the ceiling. Fine, then. 

“You said he likes me,” he couldn’t help recalling. “Is that true? Really?”

Asking was a mistake. The answer was only going to hurt more because now Steve was afraid of him. He might have liked him — cared about him, even for a brief time — but he didn’t, anymore. He’d ruined that. 

_ Yes. Why do you ask?  _

“No reason.” 

Jarvis didn’t accept “no reason” as an answer. He must have been programmed that way.  _ Can I ask you a question? _

“Go for it,” said Bucky. 

_ Have any of your old memories returned?  _

His brow furrowed. “No. Why?” Not that he could recall. He couldn’t imagine what would prompt such a bizarre question, either, because for all he knew his memories might never have been there in the first place. 

_ You show an unusual investment in Captain Rogers. I was curious — any update to your situation would be valuable to further research on Dr. Cho’s part.  _

“Investment,” he repeated. “Investment? Yeah, I’m invested! Rogers has been reading all that shit about me without permission and he didn’t even tell me, yeah, I’m invested!”

_ That’s part of it _ , Jarvis said. He was infuriatingly calm, as always. 

“Part of it?”

_ You’re angry that he didn’t trust you enough to confide in you. You weren’t aware that such a thing as those files even existed until I told you. I understand that you’re angry. He betrayed you. He won’t be happy that you know, either, but that’s my doing. If you like, I can let him know for you and set up a meeting so that the two of you can talk? _

“I don’t want to talk to him,” he said hastily, even though his heart leaped at the offer. It wasn’t worth it, though. He wouldn’t stand up in front of Steve and embarrass himself like that just so he could get an apology or some kind of closure. He already had an apology — what more could he even want?

_ Very well, sir.  _

He might have been imagining it all together, but Jarvis’s voice sounded the slightest bit exasperated, and that annoyed him all over again. “Is that it?” He asked. 

_ I don’t know, sir. It should be unless you have anything else to say? A return message for Captain Rogers, perhaps? _

“No. I don’t.”

For all his “intelligence,” Jarvis just couldn’t seem to take a hint — Bucky didn’t care about Steve. The guy was a dick and he always would be. It wasn’t worth trying to kiss and make up or whatever it was Jarvis wanted them to do. 

_ Very well, sir. Tell me if you change your mind. You know where to find me.  _

He vanished with an audible click, and Bucky was left alone in his room, as miserable as he’d ever been. 


	11. Nightmares, Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is _killing_ me. Don't take chem and ap physics at the same time, kids. I'm gonna have to fuck my physics teacher or something so I can pass :(
> 
> Anyway, here's a chapter, cause I had a bad week and I wanna do something fun. Cheers. 
> 
> TW: nightmares, blood/gore (not very realistic.) It's just the three paragraphs towards the beginning that are written in italics, so it's easy to avoid.

Despite swearing to himself that he would stop thinking about Steve, Bucky couldn’t force him out of his head. It wasn’t for lack of trying, either. On the night of his talk with Jarvis, he left his room and went for a walk. That was something he hadn't done since he'd last seen Steve, and something he hadn't done alone in even longer.

He took the stairs up a couple of floors and wandering around a maze of hallways until he got lost and Jarvis had to give him directions back to his room.

He was still angry with the AI, and Steve too, and Sam, by extension. The walk hadn’t helped. The Tower was a labyrinth, and he was lost in it without anyone to show him around, but that had gone so badly last time that he would never be ready to try it again.

By the time Jarvis guided him safely back to his room, it was well after ten. He’d been out for two hours, and he hadn’t eaten dinner beforehand. He was running low on groceries, down to a half a loaf of bread, some peanut butter, and a bag of shredded cheese, among other odds and ends, but he hadn’t gotten around to ordering more, so he made himself a peanut butter sandwich.

He ate it at the kitchen counter, cleaned up, and got ready for bed. It wasn’t late — not even eleven yet — but there wasn’t anything else for him to do. 

He took a shower, spending nearly an hour under the hot water. He’d found a bar of fancy soap in the cabinet — it smelled like mint and something else he couldn't quite identify, which was, in fact, eucalyptus. There were shampoo and conditioner to match. There was a set of warm, fluffy towels and clean clothes waiting for him, too, not that he needed to worry about that, because the hot water never ran out. 

Best of all, though, he was allowed to enjoy it as long as he wanted. No one bothered him — not even Jarvis. He was free to relax as long as he wanted.

He'd almost fallen asleep by the time he was done washing up. He forced himself to get out of the shower and dry off, and he put on a warm, soft sweatshirt and track pants.

By the time he collapsed into bed, he was more than ready for a full night's sleep. He tried to read, but he couldn’t manage to keep his eyes open long enough to concentrate on the words. Jarvis turned out the lights for him, and he fell asleep with the book still in his hand.

The deep, peaceful sleep faded gradually away, and he began to toss and turn as he sunk into the depths of a nightmare. 

_He stood as if he were outside his own body, watching from above. He grasped a knife in his metal hand, and the pair of crimson stars — the one on his shoulder and the one on the knife — gleamed like a miniature constellation. There was red everywhere, the color of the star, but darker and deeper, a horrible, velvety, red-black. It was the color of blood — it was_ his _blood._

_Steve’s blood, too. Steve stood ahead of him, his back to him, the red river pulling at his clothes and staining his skin and rising quickly up to his chest. He called out to him, the words falling noiselessly from his lips, and there was a knife sprouting from between his ribs._

_Bucky had thrown it. He became aware only after the fact. His chest ached in sympathy as if he were the one who had been stabbed. More blood bubbled from around the knife, flowing into the river and rising over Steve, closing around his chest and his shoulders until only his head was above the tide._

He awoke, gasping and clutching at the place in his side where the knife would have entered. He’d killed Steve — really killed him. He was _dead,_ drowned in that awful river. Every detail of the nightmare was cemented firmly into his brain — he’d never get it out, and he wasn’t going back to sleep. 

_Sir?_ Jarvis’s voice rang out, right on time. 

Bucky ignored him. He’d only made everything worse last time, so he wasn’t to be trusted, even though he wanted so badly to ask if he would check on Steve. Steve was _fine._ Probably sleeping like a baby at this time of night.

He got up and crossed the room, running his fingers through his hair. He’d go for a walk, which was a habit of his these days because Steve and Sam had shown him around. Maybe some good had come of that after all. 

Jarvis didn’t try to talk to him again. 

He walked for what felt like ages, not knowing where he was going or why. He found himself in the kitchen. He hadn’t been there since his first night, not having any reason to go back. The lights flickered on when he stepped into the room. It was empty, to his disappointment — he’d been half-hoping to find Tony there. 

Tony was company, the only company he wasn’t either angry with, or afraid of, or simply bent on ignoring. It would have been nice to talk to someone normal. 

But he found himself alone, so he made himself a cup of tea with lots of sugar and sat down at the kitchen table to drink it. 

He’d nearly finished it when the door on the other end of the room opened and none other than the man he’d wanted to see so badly, Tony himself, came into the room. 

He looked like hell. He hardly seemed to notice Bucky, taking a sandwich out of the fridge and pouring himself a cup of cold, black coffee without even greeting him. Bucky didn’t acknowledge him, either, because he looked so exhausted and he was most likely just too tired to talk. 

But Tony joined him at the table a few minutes later, greeting him with a quiet, “Hey, Barnes. How’s it going?” 

“Okay, I guess,” he said, setting down his tea and looking up at him. “How’re you?”

“Fine. Haven’t seen you in ages. Got worried.”

“You do this every night?” Maybe Bucky should be the one worrying about him, instead.

“Just about. Don’t have a clock in the lab. Get a little off-track, sometimes.”

“Oh.” Well, that couldn’t be good for him. 

“What are you doing out here?” Tony asked. “You look like shit. Should probably be in bed right about now, huh?”

That was rich, coming from Tony, who had bags under his eyes that physically weighed him down, but Bucky just shrugged. “Just a bad dream,” he said softly. “No… no big deal. I just needed to go for a walk or something.”

Tony winced. “That’s the worst,” he agreed. 

He looked sympathetic, as far as Bucky could see. He watched him attentively from across the table, giving Bucky the feeling that he was being scanned. It was as if he were receiving the same treatment that Dr. Cho would give him. It didn’t bother him as much coming from Tony as it did from her or the nurses, though — he had an air of empathy about him that made it hard to feel uneasy. 

“Yeah.” He sighed. The tabletop had become very interesting to him, and he refused to meet Tony’s eyes until he spoke again. 

“You feel any better?”

That was a hard question to answer. He hadn’t felt good since before he’d talked to Jarvis that night, or before he’d seen the training arena with the knife. The nightmare had been dreadful, though. He was glad that was over. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I do.” 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Tony asked. “But, I mean — you… don’t have to.” 

“I don’t mind,” he said softly, “But it’s so complicated, and there’s Steve and _Sam_ , and… I dunno. They might be mad if I tell you about it.” 

Tony sipped his coffee, pointedly raising his eyebrows. “I won’t tell them any of it. I promise.”

Bucky wasn’t sure whether he should trust him at all in the first place. He _seemed_ trustworthy, but so had Steve, and no part of him wanted to make that kind of mistake again. But he just needed someone to talk to, so he was willing to take the risk. “Okay… fine. I just… if you tell them, they’re gonna be mad at me.”

“Come on,” Tony cajoled. “I’m a trustworthy guy, Bucky, I can keep your secrets. Besides, they don’t wanna hear jack shit from me these days, anyway. They wouldn’t listen even if I tried to tell them.”

“Right,” he said. He still wasn't sure he trusted Tony, but he also felt sorry for him. If that was true… well, maybe he should just talk to him. He sounded so forlorn. “Steve and Sam and I went out to… you know, check out the tower. They showed me around a little, the gym, you know, and the dining room and they took me up to the training room. And… Steve found a knife in there. It had the same star on it that’s on my arm, and… it freaked him out, for some reason.”

He looked up at Tony as if to check if he was still listening. He was alert, leaning towards him, his hands resting on the table. His eyes were bright, and the bags beneath them seemed less pronounced — he looked so much more awake, even though he’d hardly touched his coffee or his food. 

He kept talking. “I went back to — back to my room, after that. Went to bed. I talked to Jarvis a while later. A couple of... a couple of days, I think, and he told me… he told me what happened with Steve. He saw the star painted on the knife and he thought it was _mine_ because it was the same symbol HYDRA painted on me. It scared him. He’s scared of the Winter Soldier, and I guess by extension he’s scared of me, but I don’t know how to make things right… he tried to apologize but I don’t know how sincere he was.”

Tony nodded slowly. Bucky was well aware that he was rambling — but it made him feel better. And Tony was listening, actually listening, which was… wonderful. Even Jarvis hadn’t tried to listen to him like this, for all his attempts to help. 

The story was still horrifying, even as he was telling it. He pictured Steve's panicked face, and the knife and Sam's rushed attempt to get between them. It had been as if he was afraid they'd hurt one another. He hadn’t told Tony anything about the nightmare yet, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was gross. He didn't _want_ to regale him with the gory tale of his friend drowning in a river of blood, even if it seemed more stupid than scary now that the lights were on.

They were both silent.

“He tried to apologize?” 

Bucky nodded. “He… he told Jarvis to tell me he was sorry. I — I don’t think he really meant it.”

“He didn’t try very hard,” Tony agreed. “But he tried so hard to save you, he was _obsessed_. I don’t think he’d give up on you now.”

“I know, but…” He broke off with a sigh. “Sorry, Tony. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that. It’s a lot, and… you didn’t need to listen to it. You look so tired…” He could have talked to Jarvis. Why hadn’t he?

Tony smiled faintly. “It’s okay, Bucky. I don’t mind. Do you feel any better?”

“I do.” He was surprised by how _much_ better he felt — it was so simple, but maybe all he’d needed in the first place was to talk to a real person. 

“Yeah, see?” He broke into a grin. “Sometimes you just gotta talk to someone about it. I know, I know, it’s not easy. But it really does make you feel better. Should talk to Steve too, don’t you think?”

Bucky had known that was coming — Tony had to have some sort of ulterior motive with that little speech of his. It still caught him off-guard, and he had nothing to say to it. 

“You think — you think so?” He asked haltingly. 

That pathetic little apology had been their only attempt at communication, but that hadn’t even been _talking_. Maybe Tony was right, but he couldn’t imagine seeing Steve face-to-face, because he knew he looked just as awful as he felt, and it would just be embarrassing for both of them… 

“Yeah.” Tony nodded. “You should talk to him. Just think about it, okay?” He wrapped his sandwich back up in the paper it had come in, picked up his coffee cup, and with a brisk, “See you around, Barnes,” he was gone. 

Bucky began to doubt that he’d ever been there in the first place.

His tea had gone cold ages ago. He washed the mug in the sink and put it back in the cabinet where he’d found it, retreating to his room. He wouldn’t venture back outside for a little while. He could do without another conversation like that one for another few weeks, he decided. 


	12. Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter! My schedule lately has been wack but I'm glad I posted that chapter early on Wednesday. So here's another one (cheers).

Bucky tried to make good on the promise that he’d made to himself, to stay in his room. He didn’t talk to anyone — not even Steve. _Especially not_ Steve. 

Part of him felt bad about keeping to himself because he was pretty sure Tony came out to the kitchen more nights than not, and he was probably lonely out there. He’d never run into anyone else, anyway. The mental image of Tony sitting alone at the kitchen table with his coffee wasn't a pretty one. 

He also worried that he’d disappointed him by not talking to Steve. He hadn’t said that he would, but it wouldn’t have killed him to do something productive, or even good, for a change. Tony wanted him to set things right with his friend, so he should do that. 

He didn’t. 

* * *

But Jarvis had no intention at all of letting him stay in. He organized another doctor’s appointment for him the first chance he got. 

Bucky had to go — he couldn’t refuse — and at least it didn’t turn out to be as bad as the last one. 

Dr. Cho did a little poking and prodding, which made him nervous but didn’t hurt. There wasn’t a blood draw, this time, and no scans either. The nurses kept their distance, too, but that could only do so much for him. He hated hospitals, and this wasn’t any different. 

She also recommended him a _therapist._ Imagine that. By the time she sent him on his way, he was shaking and anxious, just the way he’d been the time before and every time before that. 

He ran into someone in the hallway. She stood outside, waiting for an appointment, he assumed. She looked nervous, but she offered him a timid smile. He smiled back as he passed her, hurrying towards the elevator. God forbid he stay in this awful place any longer —

“Barnes?” She called after him. 

He stopped and looked around, startled. He couldn't imagine why she would be talking to him, particularly here _._ All he wanted was to leave. He turned back. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“I haven’t had the chance to meet you in person yet,” she said. “My name’s Natasha.”

Her voice was eerily familiar. It reminded him of something that would have been on the tip of his tongue, had he been inclined to talk about it in the first place, but regardless, it was just out of reach. She had an accent — Russian? Her voice was lovely. “Natasha,” he repeated. “My name’s Bucky, but you… you already know that I guess.”

She nodded. “Nice to meet you, Bucky. Kind of an awkward time.” She glanced towards the door to Dr. Cho’s office.

He laughed softly. “Yeah. Guess it is.” He was a complete nervous wreck at the moment. He was dying to get back to his room — the last thing he wanted to do was stick around. Which was rude of him, he supposed, but he couldn’t help it. 

“How are you?” She asked. “Doctor’s appointment aside. I’ve been hearing a lot about you lately, from certain… friends of mine, but I have yet to find out anything for myself.” She said all that with a mischievous, teasing sort of smirk on her face. 

It was hard to determine if there was any real humor to it, but he went along with it regardless. “I’m… all right. I haven’t been out much lately.” He had to wonder, too, who was telling her about him. And what they’d said. The best he could hope for was probably Tony — he’d been nice, at least. He wasn’t scared of him. Still, some part of him hoped it would turn out to be Steve instead. 

She nodded knowingly. “That’s a shame, Bucky. Have you left the tower yet? As I understand it, the last time you saw New York was in 1942.”

“No, I — I haven’t.” He didn’t have the faintest idea who had told her so many specific details about him, or whether she’d found it all on her own. It was unsettling, but not one of the most unsettling things he’d seen here. 

“Oh…” she nodded. “It’s a bit… different from back then. It’ll take some getting used to, but if you want to come out and see it for yourself, there’s a nice cafe right down the street that I wouldn’t mind showing you.” 

He hesitated, making up his mind on how to answer. On the one hand, he was dying to get away from the tower, and a cafe sounded like a good way to get used to the city. On the other, it was impossible to tell what Natasha’s intentions were. Going out to a cafe with a girl sure sounded like a date, but she didn’t make it sound romantic. He’d never been asked out so directly before. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember ever being asked out at all. He wasn’t under the impression that girls were usually the ones asking people out. Maybe things were different now. He’d already seen that for himself, to such an extent that he couldn’t say for sure anymore that she wasn’t _interested_. 

She seemed nice, and she was certainly lovely.

It wouldn’t hurt to say yes. Worst-case scenario, he’d be able to go outside for a few minutes. He was still anxious about leaving his room, let alone the tower, but he'd manage. He'd do better if he had someone with him, surely. 

“I… yeah,” he agreed, his face uncomfortably warm. He was fully aware of just how graceless and awkward he was. If she was asking him out, she had to regret it now. “I’d — I’d like that.”

“Do you have a phone?” She asked, unperturbed. 

“No,” he said. “Why?” He couldn’t imagine why it mattered. He used Jarvis to talk to Steve, so a regular phone would have been redundant. And anyway, no one had offered to install one. 

“You don’t have a cell phone?” Her face didn’t change, but her voice took on a tone of disbelief. 

“A cell phone?” He repeated, perplexed. “What’s that?”

She sighed heavily. “Steve. God, he’s useless. A _cell phone_.” She took a flat, rectangular object out of her pocket and held it up for him to see. “Look. Like one of your old-timey telephone things, but portable. You should get one.”

He felt a brief flash of indignation at her calling Steve useless. _Who did she think she was?_ But he pushed it back, looking down at the “cell phone” in Natasha’s hand. “Why would I need one of these? I mean… they don’t really need to be portable. And I can just use Jarvis to talk to Steve, so…”

She was smirking again, that humorless little smirk that made him wonder if he’d said something funny by mistake. “You won’t really get it until you use one. But they’re not like you’re used to, and Jarvis… well, he gets tired of acting like a telephone operator all the time. Most of us just call. But I can see why you’d prefer that.”

The little jibe didn’t go over his head. “Right. So where do I get one?”

“Jarvis can order you one. It’ll come pre-loaded with everything you’ll need, so you won’t even have to worry about setting it up. Easiest thing in the world.”

“Oh.” That did sound easy, even though he couldn’t imagine what he’d do with one. He hoped they weren’t expensive. 

“Yeah. So when’s a good time for the cafe?” She asked. 

He shrugged. He didn’t know why she was asking him that — she had to know that he hadn’t done anything since he’d arrived here. “Any time’s good. Do you have a preference?”

“How about I meet you in the lounge tomorrow morning at seven? If you’re an early riser, we can go and get breakfast. They sell pastries, and their coffee is pretty amazing.”

He wasn’t an early riser. “Yeah. Seven’s good.” It wouldn’t hurt him to get up before noon once this week, he decided. And it would be worth it for coffee and a pastry, anyway. Plus, Natasha was so much nicer to him than Steve had been. There wouldn’t be any talk of the Winter Soldier, or of the 1940s. He was looking forward to getting to know her. She seemed like she’d be a good friend. Maybe a good girlfriend, too. If that was what she wanted. 

“Seven, then.” She smiled — a real smile, this time. “I have to go. I’m already late for my appointment. See you tomorrow?” 

“At seven.” He smiled back. “See you then.” 

“Bye, Bucky.” She vanished into Dr. Cho’s office. 

He turned around and headed back to his room. He had nothing to do for the rest of the day except finish his book — and talk Jarvis into ordering him a cell phone. 


	13. Welcome to the Future, Bucky Barnes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, posting on-schedule!

Seven o’clock the next morning came soon enough. He woke up at six-thirty, rolled out of bed, and got ready to go. Getting up so early was harder than he’d thought it would be. He wouldn’t mind making a habit of it, in theory, because he liked the sight of the pink-and-blue, early-morning sky out the window. He was too high off the ground to hear the birds outside, but he could imagine that they were chirping just about now.

By six-fifty, he was dressed and heading out the door. He planned to walk to the cafe unless Natasha had other plans. Jarvis advised him to, telling him that it was only a few minutes’ walk, and he needed the exercise, anyway.

He was right. 

He discovered a plastic bag outside his door. When he opened it, carefully, he found that it contained a small, white box, and inside that was the same kind of cell phone Natasha had shown him. He put the box in his jacket pocket — she would have to help him set it up. It was all new to him, so he’d never be able to figure it out. 

She was already waiting for him, relaxing on a couch in the lounge. They were both early. 

She greeted him with a small smile. “Good morning, Barnes.” 

“Morning, Natasha.”  _ Barnes? _ He didn’t even  _ know _ her last name. Was he supposed to?

“You ready to go?” She asked. “Did you order a phone?”

He took the box out of his pocket and held it up. “Yeah. Right here. I was hoping you’d help me with it…? And I’m ready to go if you are.” 

She laughed. “I’d be happy to help you, Bucky. I didn’t expect you to figure much out on your own, anyway. She stood up, reaching out for the box. “Let’s see which one you got.” When he handed it to her, she looked down at it in apparent admiration. “iPhone. Not bad, Barnes. Did you pick it out yourself?”

He shook his head helplessly as she handed it back to him. “Jarvis didn’t give me any.” 

“Yeah. He does that a lot. He’s — er, very intelligent. Tony may have gone a bit overboard when he was making him, but he knows so much about  _ everything _ that it’s hard to complain.” She started to walk back out into the hall, and he followed her. 

“I think I like him.” Bucky shrugged. “Been talking to him an awful lot lately.” After what she’d told him about how Jarvis didn’t like being used as a telephone operator, he worried that his constant talking annoyed him too. He hadn’t been able to work up the courage to ask him.

She nodded. “He’s nice to talk to. It’s a little weird, talking to a computer, sometimes. Your phone has another version of that, though. Most of them do these days. It’s not as advanced, by a long shot, but it’s more common, I guess.”

“Really?” She made it sound as if they were all over the place. “That’s — that’s insane. Are they really that common? I mean, if everybody has a phone like this,” he gestured towards the box in his pocket, “What else is around these days? Flying cars?”

Natasha laughed. “No flying cars. At least not yet, but I can get Tony on it if you want. We have… oh, what would be new to you… color TV. And movies — movies are really good now, nothing’s just in black and white anymore. Got all kinds of special effects and everything. We’ll have to take you to see one sometime. Communication is really advanced, too. Cell phones are  _ crazy _ , and you can talk to anyone anywhere in the  _ world, _ if you want. Can see them face-to-face, too, like a phone call but with video. It’s really useful on missions. Food’s amazing, but you have to have seen that for yourself already, especially living here. Actually, since you’ve been living here, there’s probably not much else _ to _ show you, but we’ve gotta take you to a movie.”

That sure was a lot to take in. He wasn’t sure he believed it — except the part about the food — but she sounded sincere. And he’d find out soon enough anyway. Best of all, though, she’d drawn him into the conversation so thoroughly that he forgot how anxious he’d been until they were already outside. 

It came rushing back full force.

She looked back at him, clearly worried. “Bucky? Everything all right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine, Natasha. Let’s — let’s go. It’s not far, right?” Jarvis said it was close, but right now, even a few blocks felt like miles. And on top of that, New York looked so strange and alien. He had trouble believing it was New York at all. He needed to get back inside. 

“Nervous?” She asked. 

“Yeah. It’s just… weird. Doesn’t look the way I remember.”

Of course, he didn’t remember much, but he had an idea of how New York was supposed to look. He’d seen this from a distance, out of his bedroom window, and that had been fine. It had even been pretty, the tall buildings shining against a pale, blue sky, or lit up with a sunset or gleaming, yellow lights. Now, though, being in the middle of it, it felt claustrophobic. They looked so much more threatening from below, and there were people _ everywhere _ . 

“Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s go. I know how it feels, being in a city like this for the first time. You get used to it, I promise. For now, though, you wanna go and get something to eat?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll make it. Thanks, Natasha.” 

She smiled, looking encouraged. “Yeah. You can do it, Bucky. It’s just a couple of blocks, and the place isn’t crowded this time of day. I promise.”

They started to walk in that direction. Bucky kept his head down, his eyes on the pavement, as he followed her. He imagined people’s eyes on him as they passed them, burning into him and seeing straight through him. They were angry with him, or afraid, or… it didn’t matter. He needed to get inside.

The walk to the cafe was only five minutes, but to Bucky, it felt like an eternity. Natasha held the door open for him and guided him inside, which he thought was strange but didn’t mention. 

Inside, it was bright and warm. There was a counter with a glass case built-in at the front of the store — inside, Bucky could see an enormous assortment of pastries and baked goods. His stomach growled. It smelled like coffee, too, which was what he’d expect from a place like this, but it made his mouth water anyway. It was mercifully empty, except for a couple in one corner and a woman with some sort of device. Something like Jarvis, he figured. 

Natasha led him up to the counter, where the cashier waited by the old-fashioned cash-register to take their orders. 

“You know what you want?” She murmured. 

He suspected she already had her mind made up. She was probably impatient. “Got a recommendation for me?” He asked. 

She nodded. “I’ll order you something, Barnes. You’ll like it.”

He stood back and waited as she ordered, listening in complete bewilderment. He didn’t recognize three-quarters of the words she’d said — it didn’t sound like Russian, though. Italian, maybe. 

He remembered as she completed the transaction that he should have at least offered to pay. It was rude not to — but as he watched her take a dark green leather wallet out of her matching purse, he realized that he couldn’t ever recall having money of his own. Jarvis took care of buying things for him. He’d never planned on going out. 

Natasha broke him out of his reverie, nudging his shoulder gently as she passed. “Come on, Barnes. Wake up. You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m — I’m fine. Just… got distracted for a second. That’s all.” He waved off her concern as he followed her to a table. He was _ fine _ .

She sat down across from him. “They’ll bring our stuff over in a couple of minutes. You wanna set your phone up while we wait?”

He nodded, searching through his pockets for the box. He’d already forgotten what he’d done with it. She watched him, amused, and he tried not to notice. His face was bright red when he finally managed to hand it over. 

“You know how to do it?” He asked. 

“Yeah. Done it a million times,” she said. “They’re really breakable. We should get you a case, actually… if you drop it like this, it’s pretty much done for.” 

She held up the sleek, shiny little device, and sure enough, it looked so fragile and vulnerable that Bucky thought it was almost stupid just to leave it like that. He’d buy a case later. Jarvis would know what to get. “Right… so, what do we do with it now? I mean, it’s not exactly… ready to use.” 

It looked pretty dead to the world, actually. 

Natasha fished a little, white cord out of the box. It looked just as fragile as the phone did, if not more so, but she plugged it right into the outlet next to their table. 

Bucky watched in astonishment as the screen flickered to life. 

She saw the look on his face and started to laugh. “You’re so easily impressed. You and Steve both — just wait until we get this thing running.”

He just thought it looked cool, but maybe she had a point. He sat back and watched as she set it up for him. She clicked through screen after screen, holding it so that they could both look down at it over the table. It took a while, and he got bored. People had etched their initials into the tabletop — he got distracted and started examing them instead. She typed away at a tiny keyboard on the screen, registering him first for an “e-mail,” then for an “Apple ID—” she promised to write all his information down for him later. That sounded like a bad idea. 

“I need your fingerprint,” she said, holding the phone out towards him. “Just press the button at the bottom.”

That raised a lot of red flags for him. “You need my… you need my what?” 

“Fingerprint,” she repeated as if he just hadn’t heard her. “It’s what you use to get into the phone later. For security.”

“That’s all?” He asked. He wanted to trust her, but giving this weird little device his fingerprint was about the worst idea he could think of.  _ Jarvis  _ had never tried to fingerprint him. Not to his knowledge, anyway. 

She nodded. “That’s all. I promise. Everybody does it, and nothing bad ever happens. Some of Tony’s newer ones even use facial recognition.”

He raised his eyebrows, unsure if she was joking or not, but she seemed completely serious. Slowly, he reached over and pressed his thumb to the scanner. He waited for it to finish whatever it was doing — uploading all his personal data into some big database somewhere, probably — without complaining. 

When it was finished, he took his hand away and looked back at the screen. All it said was,  _ “Welcome, Bucky.”  _

He blinked. “I thought you said nothing bad would happen?”

She looked down at the screen, clearly confused. “What do you — oh. That’s nothing to worry about, Bucky. I had to tell it your name when I was setting up your account. It didn’t — it didn’t find that on its own if that’s what you were…”

“Oh.” He felt foolish. His face went red and he looked down at the screen again, which said the same words, but now in Spanish. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I’m okay,” he said reproachfully. “But… really, it’s no big deal.”

They both looked up as a waiter came to the table with their food: two steaming mugs of coffee, which smelled heavenly, and a large plate of pastries. Bucky wondered briefly if they’d be able to eat all that, but it didn’t matter. He already had his eye on a souffle.


	14. Therapy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the title suggests, Bucky goes to therapy. It's not explicit or detailed, but I should warn you about it anyway. It starts roughly after the second horizontal line.
> 
> I _hate_ formatting text messages in my writing. I'm never doing that shit again >:/ My characters are gonna have to figure something else out.

Bucky left the cafe feeling remarkably full and extraordinarily content. He was fairly sure that it hadn’t been a date — she just wanted to get to know him. That was perfectly fine with him. 

The food had been delicious, too. He’d have to go back when he got the chance. He could even conceivably go for lunch, which was starting to look like a very appealing option, if not for the fact that he’d have to go out by himself. He settled for a bowl of tomato soup from the kitchen, which he brought back to his room.

While he was eating, his phone went off, startling him so badly that he dropped his spoon into the bowl. He left it there for a moment, glancing over to investigate the little device that rested on the kitchen table beside him. There was something on the screen — a little, white box. There was a number inside it, followed by a message:

_Is this Bucky Barnes?_

He wondered if he should try and find Natasha so that she could help him with whatever this was, but she’d just laugh at him. He unlocked the phone the way she’d shown him and opened up the message. From there, it was just guesswork, but he worked out how to reply. 

_I am Bucky Barnes. Who is this?_

He waited anxiously for a reply, and when it came, he leaped practically out of his seat. 

_Sam. We met the other day._

_I remember. How did you find me?_

He didn’t know what _Sam_ would be doing, talking to him. He figured he’d be angry, after what happened with Steve. 

_I’m sorry. Should’ve asked, but Nat gave_

_me your number. I wanted to talk to you._

_About what?_

_A whole list of things, honestly. It’s no big_

_deal, though. I promise._

_Okay, go ahead._

None of his questions had been answered, so far. If anything, he just had more, and to make matters worse, he couldn’t see a single favorable direction for the conversation to head in.

_Steve wanted me to reach out to you._

_No, he didn’t._

_Yes, he did. He’s worried. Hasn’t heard_

_from you in a few days._

_Wouldn’t stop asking me if I’d heard_

_Anything about you._

_Why would he ask you?_

_I’m one of the mental health experts_

_here._

_I’m supposed to handle things like_

_that._

_Right. Seems a little bit below your_

_pay grade, then._

Bucky would have been excited to hear that Steve was worried about him, but more than anything, he was skeptical. If he wanted to talk to him, he would just _call_. There was something wrong with whatever was going on here. 

“Sam,” or whoever this was, was taking advantage of him.

_Not at all. You’d be surprised._

_Okay._

There was a long moment during which Sam didn’t respond. Bucky got bored waiting and got up to rinse his spoon in the sink, and when he returned, there was still no answer. The conversation didn’t seem to be over, so he chanced another reply. 

_How’s Steve?_

There was no immediate response. He figured he’d done something wrong, and he sat there for a moment, wishing he’d given up. But he wanted to know — in spite of himself, he was curious. 

_He’s doing better. It wasn’t the worst he’s_

_ever been, in the first place._

_He’s pretty strong._

_I’m glad._

_Do you have a message for him?_

_No. Sorry._

Bucky _did_ have a message for him. He had so many things to say that he could never possibly fit them all into one text message, and he’d rather say them in person, anyway. 

He wanted to apologize for being a jerk to Steve, and for not talking to him, and he wanted to make sure he really was doing all right, and he wanted to make sure it wouldn’t happen again. He wanted to ask about what he’d read in those notebooks — but he didn’t, really. He wouldn’t ask that particular question.

_Okay. Tell me if you change your_

_mind._

_Yeah. Is there anything else you wanted_

_to talk to me about?_

_Dr. Cho wanted me to deliver you_

_a message, actually._

_And what’s that?_

Whatever it was, Bucky figured, it couldn’t be good. She was nice, as doctors went, but that didn’t mean he looked forward to hearing from her. 

_She wants you to talk to someone for_

_her._

_What does that mean?_

_As in, a therapist._

If Bucky had any expectations in particular, they hadn’t had anything to do with that. He blanched. He didn’t know how to respond, either. Sam had come out of nowhere and asked him to do _this_ — and he was so polite and civil about the whole thing, too. He’d have felt bad for refusing, but it seemed suspicious. Dr. Cho should have asked him directly — or had Jarvis do it. Something like that.

_Okay. But why are you asking me?_

_Instead of her. It seems like her job._

_She asked me to. I usually handle_

_stuff like that around here._

_And you’re friends with Steve? Are you_

_his therapist or something, too?_

_No. I should be, technically, but that_

_would be weird, so he sees a different_

_doctor._

_Anyway, are you taking me up on it?_

_It might do you some good._

Bucky sighed. This was all so much more complicated than it had to be — but then again, everyone had been good to him so far. Even Steve and the doctors. He had no reason _not_ to trust him, too. 

_Fine. How do I make an appointment?_

_Jarvis will set it up for you._

_You can also talk to me if you have any_

_more questions._

_Thanks._

Sam didn’t reply again. Bucky finished his soup and washed the dishes, mulling the conversation over as he went. 

He didn’t strike him as suspicious. He’d been nice, and helpful — he’d been genuinely trying to help the two of them when Steve had his breakdown in the weapons room. The appointment was already being set up, Bucky figured. He could always just not go. But Dr. Cho _had_ said something to him about therapy, though, so maybe it was real after all. 

There was also the matter of what therapy would be like. As far as Bucky knew, it hadn’t been a very common thing when he’d been around, so he had no idea what they’d do to him if he went. That was a whole other problem than just whether he should go — what if they tried some fancy new “procedure” on him?

He’d been stupid to trust Sam, and he needed to cancel the appointment before it was too late and he had to go. 

But it was already getting late, and there hadn’t been a message from Jarvis. He went to bed instead. 

* * *

His appointment was scheduled for the following afternoon. Jarvis woke him up the following morning — before ten — to discuss it with him. 

He was too tired to care what happened to it, so he went ahead and let Jarvis confirm, just so he could go back to sleep. 

* * *

His decision paid off for exactly three more hours. At one, Jarvis woke him up again to remind him to get ready for his appointment.

“What?” He mumbled, half-sitting up in bed. “What are you talking about…?”

_Your therapy appointment, sir. With Dr. Stefurak._

Bucky sat up abruptly. “I — oh.” Did he have to go? He remembered confirming it now. That was so stupid of him… the extra sleep hadn’t even been worth it. It was already too late to cancel, and he didn’t even know if it was allowed.

_It will be right upstairs, so don’t worry about the commute. However, you might want to get dressed._

Jarvis was right. Obediently, he rolled out of bed, found himself a granola bar in the pantry, and searched through the closet for something to wear. 

He got dressed and brushed his teeth, getting more and more anxious as he did. He should have thought Sam's proposition through before he went ahead and made the appointment. Now that it was too late, who knew what they were going to do to him — he imagined it would be sort of like an interrogation. They’d sit him in an empty room with the therapist and make him answer questions about God-knew-what for an hour or so. That was how long Jarvis said the appointment would be, anyway. An hour — what a ridiculously long time to be doing something he didn’t want to do, even normally, but this… It was ridiculous. It was terrifying, and he should have refused. 

He left his room, cursing himself and Sam and Steve and Dr. Cho the whole way. At least it would be over in an hour, one way or another. 

_Do you need directions, sir?_

“Yeah,” he admitted reluctantly. He wasn’t even sure why Jarvis bothered asking. He never failed to get lost when he left his room, and it wasn’t as if he’d thought to find a map this time. 

_Take the elevator up two floors. Then go down the hall, past the waiting room, to the first door on the right. There is a receptionist there who can take care of things for you._

“Thanks,” he muttered, heading for the elevator. 

He found the place after a couple of minutes of aimless wandering. It was embarrassing, how bad with directions he was. He didn’t know why Hydra had even tried to keep him around. But he found the place, so maybe he wasn’t so useless after all. The door was open. He went in. 

A nurse sat behind the reception desk. The sight of him gave Bucky chills. 

“Name?” He asked, in a bored sort of voice.

“Bucky — I mean, James. James Barnes. Sorry.”

“James… there you are.” He nodded absently. “You’re right on time. You can go back and see her now if you like. It’s down the hall, third door on the left.”

The way he said it, Bucky didn’t seem to have much of a choice, so he went. 

The door was closed. He knocked and stood back to wait for someone to come in and open it. Footsteps scuffled on the other side, making his heart pound again.

It opened, and two faces looked back at him. One was a young lady, her face half-obscured behind large, round glasses and long, dark hair. The other was Steve. 

Bucky took several steps back as Steve dodged around him, taking off down the hall. The woman — Dr. Stefurak, he assumed — looked between the two of them, perplexed. 

“Come in,” she said haltingly, stepping aside and pulling the door open for him. “You’re Mr. Barnes?”

“That’s me,” he said. 

“I’m Dr. Stefurak. You can go on in and sit down,” she added because he hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d opened the door. 

He nodded and followed her inside, his movements stiff and jerky. She walked around her desk and sat behind it, leaving a large, overstuffed armchair for him. He sat down in it and looked anxiously up at her. 

“Mr. Barnes,” she began, warmly enough. “How are you?”

“I’m — I’m okay,” he said. This wasn’t at all what he’d expected. She wasn’t cold or clinical the way the rest of the doctors at the tower were. Her office looked just like any other — normal. No medical equipment.

“Glad to hear it,” she said. “Are you the one who scheduled your appointment? Agent Wilson and Dr. Cho filled me in on your situation over the last few months, but I understand you’re doing better lately?”

“I — I guess so. Sam sort of talked me into the appointment, but I scheduled it myself.” He could only assume Sam was Agent Wilson. 

She smiled faintly. “He’s… good at that. I’m glad you’re here, and we have a lot of things to talk about. I’m here to help you adjust to the twenty-first century, mostly, but we can talk about anything else you think we need to discuss, too. But I know you wouldn’t have had access to this kind of medical care when you were younger, so this is probably a little strange for you, right?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

She gave him a sympathetic sort of look. "I'm here to help you get used to that, too, and anything else you need. _Anything."_

“What… what kind of other stuff?” He wanted to know what he was getting into as early as possible if he could help it. 

She hesitated, and Bucky got the feeling she was thinking hard about how to explain whatever she was about to say. “For someone in your situation,” she began, “With such intense, extended trauma, even if you do have amnesia, you have a _very_ high risk of… certain mental illnesses. Depending on how our sessions go, I might test you for some of them. It's more than likely, just to make sure — because they can be treated, you know.”

He didn’t have even the slightest idea what she was talking about. “How would you test me…?” And why? What would make her decide that? And if it came out positive, what would happen to him then? He figured it wouldn’t be anything good, because he’d heard plenty of horror stories back in the day. While he couldn’t recall exactly where they’d come from, or the _details_ , he knew enough not to want anymore. 

“The simplest way to do it is a survey. All you do is fill out some questions, and we figure out what to do from there. You might need to do more complicated tests, or I can find possible symptoms myself. I can prescribe you medication if you need it, or we can work something else out to suit you.” 

That didn’t sound too bad. She was sympathetic, at least. He didn’t know how she already knew so much about him, which was a little weird come to think of it. Then again, he didn’t care, either. 

“For now, though,” she continued. “I want to take it slow. Make it easy for you to get used to it.”

“Right.” He nodded stiffly. 

“So,” she said. “How _is_ this century? I mean, have you been out much…?”

It sounded as if she were just making conversation, which was a complete about-face from what they had just been discussing. He decided to go along with it. 

“It's... nice. Not what I expected, exactly. I went out yesterday, and… that was the first time. Everything was so much… bigger, and so much more crowded than I remembered, but I guess it wasn’t too bad. A friend of mine took me out to a cafe for breakfast, and the food was… it was a lot better than I remember it being.” 

“Yeah. Food’s really good these days,” she agreed. “One of the upsides to the twenty-first century, for sure. You’ve only been out once?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Never really had the occasion to go before that.” Everything he needed was _inside_ the tower. Even groceries. Besides, he’d only just worked up the courage to go down to the kitchen to steal a can of tomato soup. How did she expect him to go outside?

“Did you like it? I mean, in general.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” He had, too. Once he’d made it into the cafe, especially. “I’m not anxious to do it again, but it was good to get outside for a little bit. Weather was nice.”

“Why’s that?” She asked. “I understand if you’re still getting used to what things are like now. I can see why that would cause you some anxiety, but is there anything else…?”

“Not — not really,” he admitted. “It’s just that. Everything feels so different, and it scares me, I guess… more than it should.” He trailed off, embarrassed. He didn’t know what he was doing, admitting _that_ to her. He’d be mortified about it later, and she’d probably remember it, too...

“No,” she said, looking a little scandalized. “That would scare anybody. You wake up and suddenly, it’s seventy years ahead of what you remember. It’s just… it’s awful. You can get used to it, though. I promise.” She smiled timidly. “You don’t have to do it all at once. We can take it slow, and I’ll help you.”

“How are you gonna do that?” He asked, skeptical. 

“The easiest way is just to keep trying new things and going out until it doesn’t bother you anymore,” she said. “I know that’ll probably be a little much for you, all at once. You can go out a little at a time, though, can’t you? You said you went out with a friend of yours.”

He could ask Natasha to show him around the city a little more. It was less daunting than going by himself, anyway. She’d said she wanted to go to a movie, so he might just take her up on it. He nodded. “Yeah.”

“But there’s easier stuff you can do, too. You’ve been here for a while — you know all about Jarvis, so you can talk to him, too. He can help you with research — teach you all about more recent history and what the city looks like and what’s new about it. That way, you won’t even have to see it for yourself until you’re ready.”

Asking Jarvis for help didn’t sound too awful. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to, anyway. “That sounds… easy,” he admitted. There should be a catch coming up. 

“And you can talk to me, too, if you need to. I don’t expect you to do any of this stuff right away, though. Actually — don’t do it too fast. It’s better to ease into it and adjust.”

He didn’t know how much easing into that he could do — it sounded so simple and so easy, there was no way he could screw it up. 


	15. Bucky's Only Two Character Traits Are "Gay" and "Repressed Gay," Which Is Extremely Relatable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late! Again! Alas... 
> 
> A warning for Bucky's internalized homophobia.
> 
> Also, for the near future, dear readers:  
> If you're not gay and/or you just don't know, Stonewall was the event (riot) that more or less kicked off the gay rights part of the Civil Rights Movement. It happened in June of 1969, which is a really epic year if you ask me, and that is also why June is Pride Month! It's really interesting to read about if you want, so I really suggest you look it up if you're into that kinda thing.
> 
> Happy reading :3

Therapy hadn’t been at all what Bucky expected. They’d had so much time left after their initial conversation that Dr. Stefurak had him fill out some of the surveys she’d mentioned, too. She promised to have the results back by his next visit, which was the following week. They’d talked about plenty of other things, too — it felt like a lot longer than an hour had passed by the time he left. 

They were topics he’d never dreamed of breathing a word to anyone about — Hydra, mostly. He didn’t want to go into detail, and she let it slide, but he told her about how Steve reacted to the Winter Soldier. She listened carefully, not offering any kind of advice, but assuring him confidently that he didn’t mean any harm. And besides, she’d said, he wasn’t the Winter Soldier. Steve wasn’t afraid of  _ him,  _ he was afraid of the journals he’d read. It was the same thing Jarvis had told him, but it meant more coming from a real person. 

* * *

  
  


He went back to his room feeling more comfortable than he’d been when he’d left. Dr. Stefurak had been much gentler than he’d expected — she’d even been  _ helpful,  _ something he was still struggling to wrap his mind around. 

When he got back, he found something waiting for him on the bed: a sleek, black box, tied up with a red ribbon. It definitely hadn’t been there when he’d left. He’d never seen it before in his life. 

“Jarvis?” He called. “What’s this?”

He responded immediately.  _ It’s a gift for you, sir. From Master Stark. Open it.  _

Trusting Jarvis and Tony, Bucky obeyed. 

The contents of the box were unremarkable, even if they struck him as a little odd. It was packed with a hard, foamy material that was the same color as the box, and nestled inside that was something smooth and black and rectangular. 

He lifted it out of the box and examined it. It almost resembled a book — in fact, there was a seam running around the edge. 

_ I’d advise you to be careful with that,  _ Jarvis intoned. 

“What  _ is  _ it?” Bucky asked, a little impatiently. He set it down on the bed. He wouldn’t want it to explode, or something. Jarvis’s warning had to be pretty serious. 

_ It’s a computer. Open it. I trust you’ve seen one before? _

“Yes, I’ve seen a computer,” he said. “They don’t look like this, though.” He pried it open and looked down at it, anxious to figure out what exactly Jarvis meant. 

_ This particular variety is called a “laptop.” I think you might not have seen one before. _

He hadn’t. He watched, fascinated, as the screen came to life in front of him. “How do I — how do I use it?” 

He was aware of computers, in general, but the kind he was used to was big and boxy and made of metal and blinking lights. This was smaller and slimmer and somehow less threatening — and he had no  _ idea  _ what it was for, just like the rest. 

Jarvis guided him patiently through setting it up, and he found himself wishing Natasha was there to do it for him. Jarvis probably felt the same, but in any case, they had it finished soon enough.

_ Your therapist has a suggestion for you,  _ he said after a moment’s silence, in which Bucky sat pondering what to do with the new device. He’d been considering finding a way to write Tony a thank-you note. 

“What’s that?” He asked, with some trepidation. 

_ She mentioned to me that you talked about your… environment. Adjusting to the changes and all that. She wants you to do your own research — I can help you if you like. _

“Oh — I don’t — I don’t know how to do that kind of thing,” Bucky said quickly as if that would get him out of it. He didn’t feel like learning anything about the new century. It was scary enough without knowing anything, and he wasn’t anxious to learn the details.

_ I’m here to show you how to do that. _

Bucky found himself backed into a corner. Jarvis was right, it was what his therapist wanted, and it would be rude to refuse, anyway. It didn’t matter how  _ he  _ felt about it — besides, she just wanted him to read up on all the new technology that came with the new century. 

“Fine.”

_ I’m glad you’ve come around, Bucky. Let me show you a few things while you’re here, and you can do it on your own next time. I know it’s a bit much to learn all at once.  _

At least  _ someone  _ was a little sympathetic. He sat back and watched as Jarvis manipulated the computer, bringing up article after article in a flash, each one gone before he could so much as read the title. He was hypnotized, enchanted by the way the little cursor moved across the screen. It wasn’t anything exciting, he supposed, but it was something new and shiny and utterly  _ fascinating  _ to him. Maybe he wouldn’t mind reading a little, after all. The laptop was certainly nice. 

Finally, Jarvis finished what he was doing, and the cursor came to rest. 

_ I’ve stored all your articles in this folder here. All you have to do is click on it, like so. You can’t use the computer like I do, though. You have to use that little rectangular pad there — it’s called the “mousepad.” I can’t really demonstrate, so you’ll have to figure that out for yourself. You can read as much as you want — I tried to find you a little of everything — and I’ll be right here if you want to ask me anything.  _

“Thank you,” Bucky said hesitantly, a little distracted by the mousepad. He thought he was getting the hang of it.

_ Any time.  _

Jarvis was like the world’s most helpful librarian. It was amazing, the sheer number of articles Bucky found in the folder. They contained everything from experimental flying cars to something called the “Civil Rights Movement,” and he was excited to read all of it. 

He’d finished his book the day before, so this was a welcome opportunity. He settled in with the computer balanced on his lap and began to read. 

They were  _ fascinating.  _ People had told him he’d see it all just living at the Tower. Reading the articles, he couldn’t help doubting that.

They talked about so many incredibly complicated things that he could hardly keep up, but he kept trying. They delved into the aforementioned technology, which Bucky wished he could read more about, but Jarvis had only left him two articles. One was about flying cars —  _ flying cars  _ — and the other explained all the grisly details of some sort of new experimental medicine. It was so full of medical jargon that he could hardly understand a word until Jarvis offered to explain it. 

There was more, after those. Article after article, some of them pages long. He read each and every one. 

They discussed advances in communication, and how education had improved and spread and developed, and how even the _food_ had improved, and why. It was wonderful. There was something called the “Civil Rights Movement,” which was so surprising and so _unexpected_ that it almost made him cry. 

He wiped his eyes and stared down at the computer, slowly taking in the contents of the article. 

_ Are you all right, sir?  _ Jarvis asked. 

He jumped. “I’m — I’m fine. I’m fine, Jarvis.”

_ Do you need me to explain something? _

“Actually — yeah. This one article. The one I’m reading now. The… the civil rights one. Is it… you know, true?”

_ Why would I show you anything that isn’t true? _

“Okay, but… it doesn’t  _ sound  _ true. It sounds, you know, too good to be true?” It was embarrassing, arguing with a computer over something he was obviously wrong about. But it was  _ ridiculous.  _ It was wonderful and  _ ridiculous.  _

_ That’s just how the world is now. They ended segregation in the south a long time ago — people of color are treated with much more respect than they used to be. So are women. If I recall, that article was extensive.  _

“It talked about — about women, yeah. And segregation, and… stuff like that. And people with disabilities, and… you know. Homosexuals.” He suddenly felt  _ very  _ awkward. The article had gone into something called “Stonewall,” and how that led up to gay people being allowed to  _ marry.  _ It made him squirm in a way that nothing else had so far. 

_ Yes, gay marriage is very common. Especially around here — large cities such as New York have become remarkably liberal as of late. It might be a bit jarring for someone from your time.  _

“I’ll say,” he said. He didn’t mean for it to come off as bitter, but it did. Jarvis made a disapproving little noise and faded away into the background. 

Bucky finished the article and went on to the next topic — this one was a little less serious. It talked about something called a “meme,” and it included examples. He had to wonder if Jarvis had put it in that particular spot on the list on purpose. He appreciated it, anyway. 

He wasn’t halfway through the article when Jarvis piped up again. He looked up in annoyance. 

_ I have a… call, for you.  _

“Who is it?” Surely they could wait until he was done reading. 

_ It’s from Captain Rogers. You might want to answer it.  _

Jarvis was right, unfortunately. “Yeah. I’ll — I’ll talk to him.” 

Heart pounding, he put the laptop down and sat up a little in bed. The bit in the civil rights article about gay marriage suddenly flashed through his mind. His face went red with annoyance, and he did his best to forget about it. 

“Hello?” Steve’s voice rang through the room. 

“Hey,” Bucky said in a small voice, tilting his head back and staring up at the ceiling. 

“I’m sorry we haven’t talked in so long,” Steve began. “I mostly called to apologize, actually. I guess… well, I  _ know  _ I haven’t been a great friend to you lately. Nat told me about how you guys went out the other day. It sounded… it sounded fun. But that’s not the point. I wanted to apologize for being such a jerk to you after what happened in the training arena.” 

He was rambling. Listening to him when he talked like that wasn’t a fun experience. Not because it was annoying or that Steve was mumbling— he sounded so distressed and  _ panicky  _ that it made Bucky wonder how they’d let the issue go for this long. 

“It’s okay,” he said, even though Steve hadn’t actually apologized. “It’s okay. I should have tried to talk to you.” And it  _ was  _ okay. It was startling, how willing to accept his apology he was after everything Steve had put him through. 

“Yeah.” Steve sighed. “I didn’t want to cut you off like that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky repeated. He meant it, too. And he wouldn’t let it happen again. But was this all Steve had called for? If that was the case, how was he supposed to know that Steve wouldn’t just  _ disappear  _ again?

“Do you want to go out for lunch tomorrow?” Steve blurted out, interrupting his thoughts. 

“I… sure.” He didn’t have any plans.

“I know a place. They have really nice sandwiches and drinks and everything — you’ll love it. Their desserts are great, too. It’s real close to here.” He sounded so excited, and even though Bucky had been less than enthusiastic at first, it was a little contagious. 

“What time?” He asked. 

“Eleven? I can come and get you if you like.”

“That sounds perfect, Steve. Thanks.” He’d have to get up early again, but it was worth it. Especially if he got lunch as part of the deal. 

“See you then?”

“Yeah. See you. Bye, Steve.”

“Bye.” 

As quickly as he had come, Steve was gone, and Bucky was left to finish the article he’d been reading. Now, though, he found it impossible to concentrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I feel a little bit bad because this is such a short chapter and I didn't edit other than running it through Grammarly.  
> Sorry about that. 
> 
> But I had fun! And I'm _usually_ good about editing and stuff.


	16. In Which Our Boys, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, Reunite

Bucky nearly slept through his appointment with Steve the next morning. He was in bed, fast asleep, until ten forty-five, and Jarvis didn’t interfere. 

Luckily, he decided to alert him before Steve came around, and the next ten minutes were spent frantically rushing around the apartment as he tried to brush his teeth and fix his hair and find decent clothes. He forgot all about breakfast, which was useless anyway. It was almost eleven, and he was about to go out for lunch. 

With Steve. 

The panic he felt was, if anything, insufficient. 

* * *

  


When the knock at the door came, at eleven o’clock sharp, Bucky nearly leaped out of his skin. He’d been waiting for a few minutes, fidgeting and pacing around his kitchen. It had just begun to occur to him that Steve might not be coming at all, that he might blow him off altogether, when there he was. 

He hurried to the door and opened it not ten seconds after the knock had come. 

There was Steve, in person, for the first time since that one strange moment in the hall outside Dr. Stefurak’s office.

He looked _terrified._ Bucky’s heart sank. 

“Hey,” Steve said quietly.

“Hey, Steve,” he said. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

He’d thought, until now, that since they’d already apologized, that was the end of it and they’d never have to talk about it again. But Steve’s eyes darted around the room, not meeting Bucky’s, and he swallowed hard before he spoke again. 

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

It looked to Bucky like he had an agenda for their lunch date.

They walked together down the hall in silence and waited for the elevator without speaking. In fact, neither of them said a word until they were at ground level. 

“My car’s out on the street,” Steve said, leading Bucky out through the lobby. “Just got back from a meeting a little while ago.”

“What kinda meeting?” Bucky asked, wanting to make conversation. He was rusty. Natasha and Jarvis always did all the work for him, but Steve seemed to have no particular interest in talking to him.

“The usual.” Steve shrugged. “Some guys wanted to talk to me about more _business_ stuff. It’s annoying, mostly.”

They both fell silent for a second time. Bucky didn’t see the point in trying again to make conversation, so he gave up. He didn’t understand what Steve wanted to go out for if they weren’t even going to _talk._

Steve led him to the car, unlocking it and opening the passenger side door for him before he went around to the driver’s side. It was a _nice_ car — brand new, sleek and shiny, from some new company that Bucky doubted he’d have even recognized in the forties. As if he’d remember, either way. He was impressed. 

“The place is just a couple of blocks away,” Steve said as he got out of his tight parking spot and onto the street. “Thought we’d drive. Traffic’s not too bad today.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice day,” Bucky said. “I’m surprised more people aren’t out.”

“Well… you know. It’s a weird time of day, I guess. A lot of people are working. And the restaurant won’t be too crowded either, which is nice.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s this little cafe — I think you’ll like it. I go all the time, and… it’s not exactly the same kinda food we used to eat in the forties, but it’s really good. They have sandwiches, mostly. And their desserts are really good.”

“That _does_ sound good,” Bucky agreed. “And I’m _starving.”_

“Did you eat breakfast?” 

“No,” he admitted, a little taken aback by the concern in Steve’s voice. “I didn’t. I woke up late, actually.”

“Me, too. I’ve been running late all day,” he said ruefully. 

Bucky laughed softly. Poor Steve — he imagined him barging into a meeting ten minutes late, still clutching a cup of coffee and apologizing frantically to whoever was waiting for him. It was unreasonably funny. 

Steve shot him a slightly reproachful look, but he kept driving. Bucky didn’t mind — there hadn’t been any real malice in it. 

They spent the rest of the ride in silence. It was mercifully short, but even so, Bucky couldn’t seem to decide if it was uncomfortable or not. Given recent events, and even how they’d behaved towards one another more recently, it should have been. Still, he found it hard to be uncomfortable around him. Steve had already apologized, and in spite of his obvious nervousness at first, he seemed almost content. Even if he was still a little stiff. 

He didn’t mind that — having Steve back, and not angry or afraid, was good enough for him. 

The cafe they were visiting was close, anyway. It was a cute little building, red brick with big windows covered by navy blue awnings. The name of the place — _La Boulangerie,_ Bucky recognized it as French — was painted in white and gold on a wooden sign that hung over the door. Similar shops and restaurants lined the street nearby. 

They got out of the car, and Steve led the way up to the front door. He opened it for Bucky, and they both went in. 

To Bucky’s relief, it wasn’t crowded. The dining area was quite large and very spacious, the tables well spread out across the room. Up front, there was a counter with a large chalkboard menu hanging behind it. Everything on it was handwritten in perfect, regular cursive. 

“I always get the same thing,” Steve said as they joined the back of the line by the counter. “The Parisian… you might like that. It’s not very fancy, though.”

Bucky found it on the menu, and funny enough, despite the name, it was more or less a ham and cheese sandwich. It _did_ look good, but he also had his eye on one of the specials. 

* * *

By the time they’d ordered — a nerve-wracking experience for Bucky — and found their seats, they were both absolutely starving. But Steve assured him that they never took too long with the food. Sandwiches were quick, anyway.

They’d both picked out a dessert, too. Bucky chose a miniature black forest cake, and Steve, after some deliberation, decided on tiramisu. 

“I meant to ask you,” Steve said, after a moment of sitting in less-than-comfortable silence. “Did you get a phone yet? I know Tony said he’d buy you one later, but…” He shrugged. 

“I mean, I did, but Tony didn’t buy it for me,” Bucky said. “Natasha talked me into ordering one, actually. Tony didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad you got one, anyway. Which one is it?”

Bucky, not having any idea, took it out to show him. Steve looked down at it for a moment before helplessly shaking his head. 

“I don’t know either,” he admitted with a little laugh. “It looks nice, though. That’s a good brand. Not Tony’s, but… good. Have you used it much?”

“No. It hasn’t really occurred to me, I guess. Natasha explained it all to me, and then I just… forgot. Got distracted. I haven’t actually seen much, either. I here there’s a lot of stuff in here.” He held it up, looking at Steve as if asking for help, which, to be fair, he was. 

Steve held out his hand for it. “Let me show you?” He asked. 

Bucky unlocked it and handed it over. “Sure. If you want.” 

“Well… you can make regular phone calls with it,” he began. “But that’s boring. And easy to figure out. And you can text? Y’know, send little messages back and forth. I don’t like it all that much, but it’s convenient.”

“Right.” He nodded. “I did that with Sam.”

Steve nodded. “So you already know some things. I guess Jarvis and Nat helped…? But some of these have really amazing cameras. I’ll _bet_ they didn’t show you that,” he said with a flash of child-like excitement. 

“Cameras?” Bucky repeated, taking the bait. 

“Yeah. Let me show you.” Steve’s eyes sparkled as he tapped away at the little device. “They’re _amazing_ these days. You’ll love them — they’re not black and white anymore and they’re so clear and pretty… and they’re so easy to print. I can show you sometime if you want. And you can take your own videos, too.” He handed the phone back across the table to Bucky. “All you have to do is press that little round button at the bottom of the screen.”

Since they were sitting next to the window, Bucky pointed it outside at the street and pressed the button. “Like that?” He asked, handing it back. 

Steve started tapping again, and when he showed the screen to Bucky again, _his photograph_ was displayed there. It looked just like real life, clear as anything and in full color. 

“Damn,” he said quietly. 

Steve laughed. 

“Can I take a picture of you?” He asked suddenly. He didn’t know what had given him the urge to do such a thing. He wasn’t sure he even _liked_ Steve, but he was still the most attractive subject around if he wanted to take another picture. 

“Sure.” He smiled shyly. 

Bucky snapped a picture of him before the smile faded away. 

This time, he noticed a tiny image that appeared in the bottom corner of the screen. It was a miniature of the photo he’d just taken — he clicked on it, and it grew larger. 

There was Steve, the sunlight streaming in through the window and illuminating his face, particularly his shy little smile. His eyes shone with excitement, because he’d just been talking about the camera and all the new technology that he loved so much, and they were so startlingly _blue._ It was such a pretty blue, light and clear and ever so slightly green. He doubted he’d ever have noticed if not for the lighting. 

“Bucky?” Steve said, in a tone that suggested he was repeating it for the third or maybe the fourth time. “You all right?”

His head snapped up too quickly, and he winced at the resulting twinge of pain. “Yeah. Sorry.” He turned the phone off and set it down on the table. “What were you saying? I got distracted for a second.”

But he was quick to get distracted all over again. Steve was even prettier in real life than he’d been in the photo, and he was almost angry at himself for not noticing sooner. His eyelashes were thick and dark, almost as if he were wearing makeup. There were freckles splashed across his nose, contrasting with his pale skin. His lips looked soft and very pink —

_“Bucky,”_ Steve repeated, with more than a touch of impatience. 

He went red. “Sorry,” he said hastily. He couldn’t let that happen again — it would be mortifying. As if it wasn’t already. 

“It’s okay.” And he really did look like he’d forgiven him. “If you want, you can get your photos printed… I mean, if you ever have anything you want printed.” He laughed sheepishly. “I like doing that — because I draw. If I see something interesting, I take a picture and print it out and I use it to draw. And sometimes I hang them up in my room.”

“I might do that, too,” Bucky said. He remembered, inexplicably, that Steve used to draw. He’d known that for ages — he wished he remembered the drawings, too. They must have been amazing. “You’ll have to show me how to do that.”

Steve nodded absently as if he were lost in thought. It took him a few seconds to snap out of it again. “That reminds me,” he said. “Can I have your phone number?”

Bucky had no idea what had reminded him, but he obliged, handing over the phone. “I don’t know what my phone number is,” he admitted. “Can you find it…?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Steve said, tapping away. “I’ll give you mine. It’s in your contacts, under the name Steve. You just have to text me or call, either way. And then I’ll have your number.” 

That sounded good enough to Bucky. It was an excuse to talk to him again, anyway. And having his phone number should help him make sure he wouldn’t disappear again. Hopefully. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Any time.” 

They were distracted from any further conversation by the arrival of their food. Their waiter brought it all out at once — food, drinks, and desserts. It looked heavenly. Bucky’s roast chicken sandwich, especially, and the desserts. It took all his restraint not to devour the black forest cake the moment the waiter set it down in front of him.

They both eagerly started to eat, not wasting any time on conversation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _La Boulangerie_ is a real place! It's on Magazine Street in New Orleans in real life, but I think it's perfect for a romantic little date. So for the purposes of our story, I moved it to New York. 
> 
> That being said, if you're in New Orleans for just about any reason, I recommend you check it out! It's an awesome restaurant, and their pastries absolutely slap!


	17. The Bookstore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohho, you thought their date was over? Imagine.   
> This isn't much of a chapter, anyway, so I'm posting early. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Steve and Bucky finished their lunch slowly, savoring their meal and each other’s company. Bucky was painfully aware that he’d have to go home soon — and even though he’d managed to procure Steve’s phone number, he didn’t know when he’d get to see him again. 

Regrettably, they didn’t talk much. Bucky kept trying to think of something to talk  _ about,  _ but it was in vain, for the most part. And they were distracted by the meal, anyway.

But they couldn’t sit in silence for very long before it started to get awkward. Steve cleared his throat softly, breaking the tension between them. “Are you ready to go?” He asked. 

Bucky nodded. He set down his empty Coke bottle and looked up at him rather reluctantly — he didn’t want to leave. When he got back to the Tower, he’d have to go back up to his room, where he’d be alone except for Jarvis. He couldn’t wait. “Yeah. I’m ready if you are.”

They both got up to go, and Bucky was relieved to notice how pained Steve looked. Mostly, though, he had to be sympathetic. He didn’t want it to be over any more than he did. 

When they got outside, Bucky started to walk back to the car, but Steve stopped him. 

“What is it?” He asked, a little apprehensive. 

“I just… had an idea.” Steve took his hand off his arm. “When I woke up this century, it took me a while to… y’know, adjust. But one of the things that really helped me — I bought a notebook to write down things I remembered from back then, and stuff I found here that I liked. Kinda like a diary, I guess.”

Bucky listened, a little confused about where this was going but willing to hear him out anyway. 

“Do you — do you want one? I mean, there’s a stationery store right down the street. We can find something for you. If you want.”

He wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to use it, but Steve wanted to help him. His heart was in the right place, so… he’d let him. “Yeah. Let’s go and look, anyway. See if we find anything.”

“It’s really close. Not a long walk at all.” Smiling slightly, Steve led the way up the street.

They passed an enormous variety of shops, although none of them sold stationery. There were little boutiques that sold expensive-looking clothes, the likes of which Bucky had never seen before. There were more cafes, a shop that sold only sunglasses, and one that appeared to deal exclusively in olive oil. 

When at last they reached the stationery store, Bucky was worn out. It hadn’t been a lot of walking, but it was a lot to  _ see.  _ He didn’t know if he could take in much more. Thankfully, this particular shop was suitably old-fashioned. 

“They keep the notebooks towards the back,” Steve said, leading the way. 

Bucky followed, because he obviously knew where he was going. 

Sure enough, along the back wall there was a rack filled with notebooks of every kind he could imagine — and more than that, they were  _ expensive.  _ They looked it, too. He could have guessed by the leather-bound cover of the first book he even picked up before he ever read the price tag.  _ Fifteen dollars.  _ He was impressed, but also horrified. 

“Is everything this expensive these days?” He asked because he’d seen the prices on the menu at the restaurant, too. 

“It’s not actually expensive,” Steve said, with a smug sort of look on his face. Bucky got the feeling he liked explaining these things to someone else, for a change. “It’s actually reasonable, for today. I know it looks expensive to you, because you… well, just got here. But fifteen bucks isn’t bad at all. It’s just inflation.”

Bucky didn’t have a clue what that was supposed to mean, but he didn’t want to look stupid when Steve was already smirking at him in that infuriating way of his.

“Go ahead and pick something,” Steve said. “I’ll pay.”

That was almost  _ too  _ generous of an offer, but he didn’t have any money of his own, anyway. He needed to ask Jarvis about that — maybe he could get a job? “Thanks, Steve.”

He picked up another book, much prettier than the last. It was navy blue, embossed with a delicate pattern around the edge. Steve had been examining a different one — something dark green — but he looked over at it. 

“What d’you think?” Bucky asked. “It’s a little fancy, but… I like it.”

“Me, too.” Steve held up the book he’d been admiring. “What do you think of this one?”

Bucky looked up at it. It wasn’t leather-bound, exactly, but something similar. The cover was smooth and it shone where the light hit it. He reached over to take it, flipping through it carefully. “It’s… nice. I like the color.”

Steve  _ glowed.  _ Bucky looked up at him and caught the same shy little smile as before, but he looked so pleased with himself. His chest tightened, and his face grew warm. If he didn’t know better, he’d have mistaken the feeling for affection. 

“You do?” 

“Yeah.” He laughed softly. “It’s  _ nice, _ Steve. Really. Actually, I think I’ll go with this one.” He put the other two back in their respective places on the shelf and straightened up, catching Steve’s eye again. His face was pink and his eyes sparkled — they were just as pretty a color as ever. How could he not have noticed?

“O — okay.” 

Steve turned away and led Bucky to the register, giving the pair of them the chance to collect themselves. He paid, too, which Bucky more than appreciated. He really did need a job, but in the meantime, this was good enough. 

The cashier handed him the bag with the notebook and they both left the shop in a hurry. Steve had gone suddenly tense — he thanked her stiffly and turned on his heel. Bucky struggled to catch up. 

Once they were outside the store, though, Steve slowed down again. “Sorry about that,” he said, in a tone that suggested his momentary anxiety was far from gone. He was breathless, still, and his voice trembled almost imperceptibly. “The cashier was… was looking at me weird, I guess. Made me nervous.”

“Oh,” was all Bucky could say. 

“It’s cause I’m a little bit… you know. Well-known around here. People like to stare, sometimes. Close to the Tower, they’re usually pretty good about leaving me alone, but occasionally…” He trailed off. 

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I remember. You didn’t like it back then, either.”

Steve turned to him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “You remember?” He repeated. 

“Yeah.” He wished he hadn’t said anything at all if this was how everyone would respond to it. “You already told me a lot of stuff, and… I guess I remember a few things, too. Like that. Nothing special.”

Steve opened his mouth as if to argue the point of what could be considered  _ special, _ but he closed it just as quickly. Bucky almost wished he hadn’t. 

“Right,” Steve said at last. “I’m glad you’re remembering things, Buck. Even if it’s not much.” 

“Yeah, me, too. And I can start writing them down now, too,” Bucky said, glancing down at the bag in his hand with a little smile. It was his metal hand, but he hardly noticed. 

“You can,” Steve agreed, smiling that shy little smile for what seemed to be the twelfth time that day. “I’m glad you asked in the first place, and… you can ask me anything else you want to know, too.” 

“I will,” Bucky said instantly. 

They’d walked all the way back to the car. Bucky got into the passenger’s side, but not before he caught the look on Steve’s face. There was that odd, fluttery feeling in his stomach again. Maybe he’d eaten something weird for lunch. 

That was more or less the end of their conversation, unfortunately. Steve drove them back home — the traffic was even lighter than before, and before either of them knew it, they were back in front of the Tower. Steve took his time parking, and they walked together back into the building. 

“Want me to walk you up to your room?” Steve asked. 

They were already headed for the elevator — he assumed Steve was going to his room, too. “I mean… if you don’t mind?” He said slowly. 

“It’s on my way,” he assured him. “No big deal.”

They got onto the elevator — no big deal for Bucky, this time. He didn’t mind it in the least, at least while he had someone to keep him company. It still made his stomach feel a little strange, but that was bearable without the anxiety that normally accompanied it. 

Steve pushed the button for his floor without even asking which floor it  _ was.  _ He wondered how he remembered, but after all, he’d visited several times before. It wasn’t shocking. 

“We should do something like this again soon,” Steve said. 

Bucky had been hoping he’d ask. “We should,” he agreed. “D’you have any ideas…? I don’t know my way around or anything.” 

Steve laughed sympathetically. “I know. But you get used to it, after a little while. It’s not as bad as it looks. And… I know this Indian restaurant if you wanna go a couple of blocks farther than last time.”

“Indian?” Bucky repeated. 

“Yeah. It’s really good — you’ll love it. If you wanna go…?”

He nodded eagerly.  _ Too  _ eagerly, but Steve didn’t seem to care. “I’d love to go, just about… whenever you want. Don’t have many plans right now.”

“I can text you about it later,” Steve offered because they’d already arrived at his door. “If you want? I’m busy this week, but I’m sure I can figure out a time.”

“Yeah. That sounds great, Steve,” he said, breaking into a smile. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” he agreed. 

Steve was standing very close. It was especially noticeable in the wide, empty hallway, just how close he was. And he was so very  _ tall _ — he towered over him. He looked up at him, into his lovely, blue eyes and the way his lips curved into that soft, warm smile. 

But Bucky tore his eyes away, instead staring resolutely down at the floor. “Yeah. Me too, Steve. So… Have a good night? I’ll talk to you later.”

He nodded slowly, concern creeping onto his face when Bucky dared to look up again. “Have a good night, Buck. Talk to you later.”

And with that, he was gone, and Bucky turned and went back into his room before he could become any more flustered. 

* * *

  
  


It was later than he’d thought it would be. The window by his bed was illuminated by the sun, which wasn’t quite setting yet, but had already started to turn the skyline and the distant river and even Bucky’s own room to gold. 

The clock on the nightstand told him it was only three forty — not too late, but it was that time of year when the sun set at five or so. 

He set the notebook down on the bed and took out his phone. He didn’t know if this was the kind of thing Steve had in mind when he said he liked to draw from photographs, but it was so lovely that he couldn’t resist  _ trying.  _ He took as many pictures as he could of the view from the window, from all different angles — by the time he was done, the sun really  _ had  _ started to set. 

He turned the lights on and settled down on the bed to look through them. Some were really terrible — blurry or crooked. He deleted them right away. Out of the rest, though, there were some good ones. He made sure to save them, flicking through them again and again until he decided on an especially pretty one. 

The sun had long set by the time he figured out how to send it to Steve — even with Jarvis’s help. He had to decide on a message to go with the photo, too, which took even longer. Finally, he settled on, 

_ [Attachment] _

_ Hey, Steve. It’s me, Bucky. _

_ You said you liked to draw from photos _

_ sometimes, and the view from my room is  _

_ kinda pretty. _

_ I thought you might like it. _

He sat back to wait, fidgeting anxiously. A notification popped up on his screen, suggesting that he change his lock screen. Perhaps it was from Jarvis. 

He clicked on it, just to investigate, and it guided him through choosing a photo (he picked the one of Steve because it was still the best photo he had) and setting it as the lock screen. He’d change it later, and Steve would probably never see it, anyway. Besides, it was a good picture. 

Another notification — this one extraordinarily loud — made him jump. 

_ I love it, Bucky. Thank you.  _


	18. Nightmares, Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for a couple of things.   
> Firstly, for thinking that I could write this entire chapter in two hours and post it before midnight yesterday. I am a fool.   
> Secondly, for naming the previous chapter "The Bookstore." In my defense, I was very tired and that was my original plan. 
> 
> But! I am only a day late, and a bookstore and a stationery store are more or less the same thing. Steve and Bucky did purchase a book, so perhaps it didn't work out so badly after all. 
> 
> Additionally, I know it's bad writing to just write in that day's date whenever a character has to write one. But I did the math! It works out that way. Don't judge me. And the year is different, anyway.
> 
> I digress. 
> 
> Unfortunately, this chapter got away from me in a lot of ways. I meant for it to be fluffy. It was _not_. So, TW: nightmares and implied panic attack.  
> This applies to most of the chapter, from when Bucky goes to bed and onwards.

Steve and Bucky talked for a while, even though they’d only just parted. They discussed trivial things — the pretty views from all the different parts of the tower. Steve promised to show him some of his favorites sometime, but he didn’t specify whether it would be in person or through more photos. Bucky couldn’t help but hope for the former. They talked about their day out, too, and how wonderful lunch had been. They talked about their plans for later — Steve did his best to describe Indian food over text. He wasn’t very descriptive, but Bucky was still curious. 

Their conversation turned to what Steve was doing — drawing. That particular text was accompanied by a photo of a rough sketch that  _ very much  _ resembled Bucky’s photo. His stomach filled with butterflies. He saved it. 

Regrettably, though, Steve had to leave not long after. He politely excused himself, telling Bucky he had to get ready for a meeting. His tone was one of mild irritation, and Bucky didn’t know whether to be sympathetic or  _ relieved.  _

But either way, he left. Bucky was alone again. He found himself feeling strangely empty, as though something long-awaited and important was over. His new plans with Steve couldn’t come fast enough. 

He remembered the notebook and picked it up, looking around for a pen. He had no idea what he was supposed to write about, but he’d give it a shot and see what happened. Steve would be happy to know that he was using it. 

_ 11.9.2012 _

_ Went on a date with Steve today.  _

Shit. He should  _ not  _ call it a date. But what else was there? “Outing?” “Trip,” or possibly “engagement?” He was ridiculous. 

He stuck with “date.” 

_ The connotation of the word “date” is not necessarily romantic,  _ Jarvis supplied helpfully and completely out of nowhere. 

Bucky jumped. “I — I know, Jarvis. Thanks.”

He had to wonder how he knew. Surely he hadn’t learned to read minds while Steve and Bucky were out to lunch, had he?

Not wanting to think about it too much, he kept writing. 

_ Maybe “date” is too strong of a word. It doesn’t matter one way or another. I know I don’t have feelings for him, and he’s never going to see this, anyway. But that’s enough about that.  _

He didn’t need to write about  _ Steve  _ and nothing else all night. 

_ We went out to this nice little French cafe for sandwiches and dessert and I already want to go back. They had so many things on their menu that looked good… And after that Steve took me to a stationery store and bought me this notebook because he thought it would help me adjust to everything. He helped me pick one out and he paid for it and everything, and then he took me home and walked me right back to my room. Even though it was  _ inside.  _ He’s ridiculous.  _

Bucky smiled to himself. Steve had always been like that — he remembered now. He’d always been so overprotective. It was sweet, in a way, how he insisted on looking out for him. 

He must have stopped writing for a little while because his thoughts were interrupted again by Jarvis’s voice. 

_ If you don’t mind my asking, sir, how was your engagement with Captain Rogers? _

Bucky cleared his throat hastily. He set down the notebook and the pen. “It was… fun,” he admitted. “We went out to a cafe and he bought me lunch, and after that, he took me to a stationery store and bought me a notebook because he thought — well, he said it was one of the things that helped him get used to the way things are these days.” He was still grinning like an idiot. 

_ That’s very nice of him.  _

“I know,” Bucky agreed. “And… I guess this is the nicest he’s been since the whole thing in the training room. I didn’t know how much I missed him until he came back.” 

_ If I recall, you could have reached out to him. A friend of yours even suggested it.  _

“Yeah,” he said, a little put out. “But I was nervous, I guess. And it doesn’t matter now that he’s back. I’m just glad he’s here. And he’s so nice to me, and it’s just nice to have a real friend. Y’know?”

Jarvis made a noncommittal sort of noise. Bucky figured he probably  _ didn’t  _ know, after all. Being a computer and everything. 

“And I like getting out of the Tower. It still makes me nervous, but it’s what Dr. Stefurak said to do, and I’m glad I have someone to do it with.”

He didn’t even answer, this time. Bucky was probably just being annoying, rambling on and on the way he was. He sounded like a little schoolgirl, all excited about her crush from her history class. 

He was far too old and too mature to act that way — he stopped talking. 

_ I’m glad you’re enjoying the city,  _ Jarvis said, startling him. He’d thought they were done talking for the night.  _ Steve is, too. He’s very excited to be able to spend time with you.  _

“He is?” Bucky asked. His eyes lit up with excitement and he looked wildly around the room as if he could find Jarvis and confirm what he was saying. “What makes you say that?”

_ I’m speaking with him right now. Upstairs. He’s just returned from his meeting.  _

“How is that possible?” Bucky asked. Jarvis was just a computer — did he not know how human conversations worked?

_ I am a computer,  _ Jarvis said, stating the obvious.  _ I am able to carry on as many tasks as I like at any given time. Currently, I am carrying out a classified project for Master Stark and discussing the contents of Captain Rogers’s meeting with a number of SHIELD officials, as well as speaking with Rogers himself.  _

“Oh.” Bucky still hardly understood how that worked, but he didn’t care. “So what’s Steve saying about me?”

All his previous excitement was restored. 

_ The usual, I’m afraid. I’m not allowed to tell you the specifics, but he’s been going on and on about what you two did all day and how you talked after. And he really did like the photo you sent him.  _

That was specific enough for Bucky. He felt himself breaking into a smile again, in spite of himself, his face getting very warm. He stared down at the bedsheets, a little embarrassed to be seen this way. “He did?” He should send him more. It was a good excuse to talk to him, and he loved the little drawing that he’d made with it. 

_ He did.  _ Jarvis wasn’t the most cheerful companion, but that was as close to gleeful as his voice could sound. 

In Bucky’s opinion, it was a little strange. He didn’t understand how they could go from not speaking to each other to even the  _ computer _ being happy about their spending time together, all in the course of two days. He didn’t care, though. He was  _ lucky —  _ lucky Steve didn’t hate him, and lucky just to have a friend. 

_ It’s getting late,  _ Jarvis commented, and Bucky realized he’d been silent for a minute, if not more.  _ Almost ten. Perhaps you’d like to eat something and start getting ready for bed? You’ve been staying up late lately.  _

Jarvis had a point, and it wasn’t as if Bucky had anything else to do. He also hadn’t eaten dinner yet. Sighing, he got out of bed and started to gather up a fresh set of clothes so that he could go and take a shower. “Yeah. I will. Thanks, Jarvis.” 

_ Any time.  _

  
  


Bucky took a hasty shower, ate dinner, and got ready for bed. His dinner was a sorry affair — little more than a collection of leftovers from other meals. It still wasn’t half bad, though, and by the time he was in bed, it was only ten-thirty.

He wished Jarvis goodnight and curled up under the covers, looking out at the view from the window. It was just as lovely at night, but he doubted Steve would want a text message so late. 

  
  


He slept for what felt like an eternity, but when he woke up, it was still dark outside. He was so very comfortable in bed that he hardly wanted to open his eyes. A loud, urgent-sounding noise came from beside him — he thought at first that it was just his imagination, maybe a dream, until he looked over and saw his cell phone ringing on the nightstand. 

He picked it up and answered it, holding it to his ear without even bothering to sit up. “Hello?” 

Steve’s voice replied. He’d have been positively euphoric at the sound of it, but something about it was terribly wrong. “Bucky?” He called. 

“Yeah. It’s me. Everything okay?”

“I’m — I’m fine, Bucky. I’m fine. I’m  _ fine,  _ I promise.” His voice hitched and cracked and broke at the end of his fragmented sentence. 

“Okay,” Bucky agreed. “Okay. You’re okay, Steve. Do you need anything…?” 

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, as Steve tried to get enough of a hold on himself to say something. “I just — I just wanted to… wanted to talk to someone,” he explained at last. 

“I’m right here,” he said, getting more confused with every moment that passed. He didn’t know why Steve would choose him to ask for help. They hardly knew each other — but it didn’t matter. “You can talk to me as long as you need to.”

“Thank you,” he said, in a choked sort of voice. 

They both fell silent again. 

Bucky spoke, at last, wanting to break the heavy silence that had fallen between them. “Where are you?” He asked gently. 

“I’m — I’m at home,” Steve said. “Why — I’m not hurt or anything. You don’t have to come and help me. It’s just… I was  _ asleep.  _ It was just a stupid  _ nightmare.” _

“Oh,” he said. “I’m glad you’re home, at least. Are you at the Tower…? I can come and check on you if you want.” 

He pictured Steve, sitting there in his dark bedroom. What kind of nightmare was it? Bucky had his own, sometimes. Panic attacks, too — they were dreadful. Steve shouldn’t have to go through that, let alone by himself. He recalled how he’d panicked at the sight of the knife in the training arena. He hadn’t even tried to apologize after that. Not until Steve made the first move. 

“No, you don’t — you don’t have to,” Steve said. “Don’t. I already woke you up.”

“No, it’s okay,” Bucky said. “It’s okay. I want to check on you, anyway, and… maybe you could use the company?”

“Okay.” Steve sighed. “Please — please hurry.”

Bucky got out of bed and pulled on a sweatshirt — he’d been wearing a tank top, which was no good, especially if Steve was already panicking. He couldn’t make it worse by accidentally showing him the damn star. “I’m already on my way, Steve. I’ll be there soon.”

He was about to hang up, and Steve seemed to sense it. “Wait,” he said hastily, his voice going high and panicky. “Don’t — don’t hang up. Please.”

He took his hand away from the button and replaced the phone by his ear. “I’m not hanging up,” he said gently. He didn’t bother with shoes as he made his way out into the hall. They’d have taken too long to put on. 

“Good.” Steve took a shaky breath, letting it out slowly. “Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky walked down the dark hallway to the elevator. Jarvis began giving him directions — he’d figured out what was happening and decided to help. “I’m in the elevator now, Steve. You doing okay?”

“I’m  _ fine,”  _ he said, and Bucky thought he almost sounded belligerent. 

“I know.” He got out of the elevator and followed the rest of Jarvis’s instructions, down the hall and through the maze of hallways. He arrived at Steve’s door at last, worried that he had the wrong one because there were no lights on inside. “I’m here.”

“Coming.” 

Sure enough, the door opened, and there was Steve. His eyes fixed on his face, Bucky hung up the phone and tucked it into his pocket. 

He was dumbfounded by how dreadful he looked. He was pale, his whole body trembling. His shoulders, in particular, shook as he took a short, gasping breath. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said at last. 

“Of course I came,” Bucky said. 

Steve’s mouth quivered. He looked away, but it wasn’t enough to hide it. “Thanks,” he choked out. 

Before Bucky could reply, he was pulled into a bone-crushing hug. He hugged back as best he could, taken aback by the gesture but doing his best not to panic or push him away. 

Steve’s face was buried in his shoulder, his arms locked tight enough around him to crush the breath out of his lungs. He reached up to rub his back with his good hand, the other one resting lightly on his side. Steve was content to stay there a while, his breathing slowing down and beginning to even out as he calmed down. 

He sighed, lifting his head from Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” When he spoke, his voice was calm, even if it was slightly hoarse. “You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t have to see this.”

“It’s okay.” Bucky pulled back a little and looked up at him. “You look better. You wanna go inside…?” He didn’t know if he’d be invited in. 

“Yeah.” Steve pulled away, too, and turned to go back inside. “You wanna stay a little while? I mean, it’s okay if you want me to go back to bed, but…” he trailed off awkwardly, pausing in the doorway to wait for Bucky’s reply. 

He nodded. “Yeah. If it’s okay with you, I’ll stay.” Like hell, he was leaving Steve to sleep alone for the rest of the night — or whatever else he planned on doing — until he was sure he’d be okay by himself. 

Steve led him inside. He looked around curiously, taking in the new surroundings. Steve’s apartment was immaculate. It was much larger and more spacious than his own, with the same high ceilings and large windows. The furniture was sleek and shiny, all of it perfectly clean. The kitchen was large, too — the sink was empty, unlike his own. 

“Do you want me to make you something to drink?” He asked, prepared to go down to the kitchen to get whatever it was he needed. “Like… I dunno. Tea or hot chocolate or something.”

Steve smiled shakily. “I have some tea. Make yourself some, too.” 

He went into the kitchen, where he found a pair of ceramic mugs and a box of teabags. He heated up some water in the microwave and added the tea bags. He picked up the mugs and went to find Steve, who was sitting on his bed. 

Bucky handed him one of the mugs and paused, uncertain if he should stay. It was Steve’s room, after all. It was private. 

But Steve gestured for him to sit down with his free hand, so he did. 

He took the opportunity to have a look around. Like the rest of the apartment, his bedroom was spotless. Though the bed was unmade and there were several bottles of pills scattered across the nightstand — one of them had spilled — the rest of the room was perfectly clean. The closet door was shut, and the top of the dresser had been freshly dusted. There were drawings and photographs on the walls, starting a few feet above the floor and only stopping a little ways below the ceiling. 

He squinted, trying to get a better look in the semidarkness. 

They were lovely — there was a drawing of Natasha. No background, or nothing detailed, anyway. She was smiling in a way he hadn’t seen her smile, and her red hair tumbled down around her shoulders. There was Tony, too, in another drawing. This one had been shaded with something, maybe watercolor or ink. He looked busy, sitting at a desk and staring intently down at something in his hand. There were other people, too, who he didn’t recognize. There was Sam — Bucky even saw himself in one of them. Mostly, though, they were landscapes. He saw the street outside the Tower, which could have been the view from Steve’s window. There were others, too, less recognizable, but also Central Park and the Brooklyn Bridge — both drawn from high up and far away. They were  _ lovely.  _

“Buck?” Steve said softly. 

“Yeah. Sorry.” His face went red, but he hoped it wouldn’t be visible in the dark. “I just… your drawings are really nice. I got distracted.” He laughed sheepishly. 

“Thanks, Buck.” Steve turned to look at him, and in the dim light, he could just see his shy smile. “Not many people get to see them, but I’m… I’m glad you like them. The one I’m doing of your photo is in the living room — I can show you later if you want.” 

“I’d like that.” He nodded, maybe a little too eagerly. 

“Yeah. Me, too.” He sighed, playing with the string on the tea bag. “I should get to bed soon. Are you staying the night?”

Taken aback by the question, Bucky was silent for a moment. “Sure,” he said at last. “If it’s okay with you.” He didn’t relish the idea of sleeping on a couch, but he’d do it for Steve. 

“Okay.” Steve smiled shyly. “Thanks. I… I owe you one.”

“You don’t,” Bucky said, surprising even himself with the amount of affection in his voice. 

“Yeah. I do. I’m really sorry about all this,” he added. “I’m just so scared to have another nightmare. And it’s stupid because I have them all the time. This one wasn’t any different.” He glanced up at Bucky. “Sorry. I’m talking too much.”

Bucky took a small sip of his tea. “No, you’re not. Do you want to tell me what it was about? It’s okay if you don’t, but it might help you feel a little better.”

“Do you want to know?” 

“If you can tell me.” 

Steve sighed. “Okay. Fine. I’ll tell you. It’s just — it’s stupid. It wasn’t even a bad nightmare, as far as they go. I mean… it wasn’t the worst. I don’t know why I reacted like I did.” 

Bucky sat patiently and waited for him to start telling the story. 

“I woke up here, and everything was… everything was normal. Except… something felt off, I guess. It was all cold and dark and I got up to do… I dunno. I don’t know what I was doing,” he admitted. “I should have stayed in the room. But — anyway, I got out of my apartment and I went into the hall and the lights didn’t turn on, and everything was so dark and empty, and I got scared so I started yelling for somebody but no one answered.” He took a deep breath, making a visible effort to stay calm. “I heard someone’s voice yelling back, but it was just an echo from earlier, and then it  _ didn’t stop,  _ it just got louder and louder until I woke up. It’s not even that scary and I don’t know why it freaks me out so much but… it does.” He stared down at his lap, his shoulders hunched. 

“I know,” Bucky said, reaching over to put his arm around him. “I have weird nightmares like that all the time. Sometimes I feel like an idiot in the morning for being scared, but… I know how it feels right now.”

“Thanks.” Steve’s voice trembled a little, almost imperceptibly. He sat up a little, taking a sip of his tea to buy himself time to get his expression and his voice under control. When he put the cup down again, he looked remarkably composed. “Thanks, Buck. I’m glad you understand.”

“Yeah. I’m glad somebody else understands, too.” It would be better if they didn’t have to, but at least they both had company. 

Steve leaned over, his head resting on his shoulder. Bucky glanced down at him in surprise — he hadn’t seemed the type to show this sort of affection. But then again, he was probably just tired. He rubbed his back, his own exhaustion creeping up on him. Now that Steve was safe and apparently comfortable, he could worry about himself. He was tempted to ask Steve if he wanted to go to bed any time soon, but that would be rude. And besides, he almost liked sitting up with him. It would have been fun if it were under more lighthearted circumstances. 

He suddenly became aware of the sound of snoring beside him. Steve had fallen asleep on his shoulder — he looked over at him for a moment to verify that he was  _ actually  _ asleep before he moved. 

He set his cup down on the nightstand, taking Steve’s from him, too. It was over half-full and dangerously close to spilling. He put it down beside his, before gently maneuvering Steve — who was already sound asleep — back onto the bed. There were blankets everywhere, and he pulled several of them up to tuck him in as best he could. He curled up under the covers, his face almost peaceful. He had to be exhausted, Bucky decided, after the night he’d had. Nightmares like that always made Bucky so tired that he wanted to sleep for a week, and Steve probably felt the same. 

He gathered up their cups and one of the blankets from the end of the bed and made his way out into the living room to sleep on the couch. 

It would most definitely be awkward in the morning, but that was a problem for tomorrow. Steve asked him to stay, so he would stay as long as he needed to. He was just repaying him for his kindness the day before — but after this, he hoped they could be better friends. Maybe they could learn to talk to one another, instead of the fiasco that had been both of them freaking out and mutually ignoring each other after the incident in the training arena. 

He could  _ hope,  _ anyway. 


	19. Steve and Bucky are Friends Now. Fight Me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long. Two weeks has gotta be a record. But here it is, so I guess that's gotta be good enough. I'll do better next time. And I'll write a hell of a lot over Christmas break. 
> 
> I think that makes up for it?
> 
> Anyway, happy reading.

Bucky drifted off slowly, his thoughts tiring him out until he fell asleep. He needed it, after having been disturbed so abruptly in the middle of the night. 

He was startled to find himself still in Steve’s living room the next morning. Sunlight streamed in through the window, blinding him, and he’d thrown off the blanket at some point during the night. He had no idea where he was. 

Slowly, he recovered himself, sitting up and looking around. The previous night started to come back to him — but Steve didn’t seem to be out of bed yet. The lights were off, and he certainly hadn’t been disturbed. The apartment was deserted. If he’d left already, he’d been quiet about it, which was… sweet. But Bucky decided to stick around, in case he was still in bed. 

He wouldn’t be there all day, though. It wasn’t as if he had plans, but he didn’t want to leech off Steve. 

Unfortunately, though, there was nothing for him to do while he was on his own. He sat on the couch, playing with a loose thread in the hem of the blanket. 

  
  


He’d just started to wonder if Steve had really left already, and was considering going to check when the man in question came around the corner. He was thankful, suddenly, that he’d stayed put because it would have been indescribably awkward to run into him in that tiny hallway space. 

“Morning,” Steve said sleepily. 

“M — morning,” Bucky stammered. Steve’s hair was tangled and sticking up in places. One piece fell across his face. His hand moved to reach out and push it aside — Steve stopped well within reach, leaning over the arm of the couch opposite him — but luckily for him, he stopped it in time. 

Steve looked down at him, perplexed. He must have had a very strange look on his face, and he did his best to hide it before things got more awkward than they already were. 

“Do you want breakfast?” Steve asked, out of the blue. 

Bucky blinked at him. Had he misheard? “Sure…?” He tried. 

“I mean, it’s okay if you have plans,” Steve said as if he hadn’t heard him. “I don’t mind if you have to go. But I’d love for you to stay, if… that’s okay?”

“I can stay,” he repeated, a note of amusement in his voice. 

Steve smiled softly. “You can?” A look that could have been relief came over him, and he visibly relaxed. His shoulders slumped slightly — he’d been tense.

Bucky smiled back. “Yeah. I’d love to. What’s for breakfast?” He was so hungry, but he hardly had it in him to cook for himself. Thank god for Steve. 

“Pancakes?” 

“Sounds amazing. Can I help?” Pancakes were easy — and he’d be rude not to _offer._

“No, it’s okay.” Steve smiled his sweet, grateful smile, even though he was refusing the offer. “You don’t have to. I’d be a bad host if I asked you to help, and besides… they’re easy. I’ve known the recipe since we were kids. You want coffee, too?”

 _Since they were kids?_ Since _they_ were kids? Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if he’d known that recipe, too. He knew he liked pancakes — he’d eaten them before, although he couldn’t say for the life of him _where._ Maybe they were Steve’s pancakes. He couldn’t help but hope that eating them would jog his memory.

“Buck…?”

He nodded hastily. “Yeah. I’d like some coffee.”

“I’ll put some hot chocolate in it, too, if you want? Sam taught me to do that. It’s a _million_ times better than milk and sugar.” 

“That sounds _amazing,_ Steve.” He got up from the couch and followed him into the kitchen. His stomach growled loudly and he winced, his face going red. If Steve noticed, he didn’t show it. 

He sat down at the table while Steve got busy with breakfast, first getting the coffee ready, then starting the pancakes. The smell of coffee woke him up, and soon enough Steve set a mug down in front of him. He took a suspicious sip, wary of the hot chocolate. It sounded weird — even if he liked hot chocolate and coffee separately, they couldn’t be good together.

But he was _so_ very wrong. Sam was a damn genius. He had difficulty restraining himself from drinking the rest of the mug in the next few seconds — he stopped himself only by deciding to order a box of hot chocolate mix when he got back to his room. 

Steve must have seen him looking at him, or he’d caught the purely delighted look on his face. He turned to look at him, grinning broadly. “You like it?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I love it, Stevie.”

Steve went pink. “Thanks, Buck. It was Sam’s idea, not mine, but it _is_ really good, isn’t it?” He was practically glowing. 

Bucky’s chest tightened, something odd fluttering in his stomach when he saw the look on his face. “Yeah,” he admitted. “How’d he come up with that?” He was wary of Sam. He didn’t know him very well, and the only thing he could associate him with was Steve’s little breakdown in the training arena. But this was nice. 

“He _hates_ black coffee,” Steve explained, grinning. “He likes to ‘improvise’ when he comes over to visit and I don’t have any creamer.” 

Bucky laughed. “He’s definitely onto something.” 

Steve nodded absently, scooping the last several pancakes out of the pan and onto the plate. He picked it up and carried it to the table, and the sight of them alone was enough to make his mouth water. He watched in dismay as Steve turned away, gathering up plates and silverware and taking _forever_ to do it. He just wanted to eat — he could have helped set the table, at least. 

Steve finally sat down, and they both helped themselves to the pancakes. 

They didn’t taste quite as familiar as Bucky had hoped, but they were still amazing. They made him feel at home. 

The two of them ate in silence for a little while, a comfortable kind of silence for once. Bucky was too busy eating to even think about talking, and Steve had an odd, faraway look in his eyes. He didn’t want to disturb him if he was thinking about something important. 

At last, though, when they were both done eating, Bucky broke the silence. “Those were amazing, Steve. D’you think I could have the recipe…?” 

Steve nodded eagerly. “Yeah, of course. I’ll have to write it down for you. Haven’t had a hard copy since about 1932.”

“What happened to it?” Bucky asked because 1932 was a very specific year and there _had_ to be a story behind that. 

“You dropped it into the sink while I was washing the dishes.”

“Oh.” He chuckled softly, his face going slightly pink. “Sorry about that, Stevie.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “You made it up to me. And I had it memorized long before that, anyway. But you felt so bad about it, you know, and it was just a pancake recipe. You’d have thought I was mad at you.” 

“Were you?” 

“No! Of course not.” Steve looked scandalized. “Things like that used to happen all the time. Of course I wasn’t _mad._ I’d just left one of your books out on the fire escape the week before.”

Bucky winced. “Which one was it?”

“ _Farewell to Arms.”_ He sighed. “A good book. I felt bad about it.”

Bucky’s eyes widened — the strangest idea had just come to mind. “Didn’t you leave it out there because it got too cold that night and I made you come in?”

Steve nodded enthusiastically, a smile coming over his face. “You did! I forgot about it and it _snowed_ that night. God, it was terrible. I owe you a new copy.” 

“You don’t,” he promised. “Really, it’s okay.” He’d never heard of _Farewell to Arms._ Not that he could recall, anyway. But now that Steve was talking about it, he wanted to read it again. He’d have to order it for himself, though, because he wasn’t going to ask Steve to buy it for him. He already had the notebook. “But what’s it about?”

“Well, I only got through half of it,” Steve admitted with a sheepish smile. “It’s about an ambulance driver, back during the Great War, I think. He has a winter leave and he meets this nurse, and… well, then you made me go inside.” 

“I think there was more to it than that,” Bucky said reproachfully. 

Steve laughed. “I’m sure there was. I didn’t read as much as you did, back then. You had so many books, Bucky — they were all over the apartment and you were always reading something. I don’t know what happened to those books… do you have any at your place?”

“Just one,” Bucky said. “And the notebook you bought me. I think I might order more — I liked the last one.” 

“I really can get you some new books.” Steve offered as if he still felt guilty about _Farewell to Arms._ The idea of it was almost funny because that had been almost seventy years ago. He hadn’t even been angry about it then. 

But he indulged him, anyway. “Okay,” he said with a little smile. “Thanks, Steve.” He really could do with some more books. They might even bring back some memories for him.

“Do you want to go to the bookstore to look for something with me?” Steve invited. “I mean… I can’t go today, but sometime soon? I should look for something for myself, too. I mean, if we’re going.”

Bucky nodded eagerly, his face flushed. He was pleasantly surprised by the invitation, and there was no way he could turn it down. “Yeah, I’d love to, if you really wanna go…?” He still wasn’t sure Steve wasn’t just being polite. It seemed strange, just to offer to take someone — hardly even a friend — to a bookstore. Then again, he’d done it before.

“Course I do,” Steve said with a little shrug as if it were no big deal. And maybe it wasn’t.


	20. The Winter Soldier Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, posting on time and everything! (Aren't you proud of me?)  
> Mild TW for an implied panic attack at the end of the chapter.

They didn’t go to the bookstore, after all. Something “came up” with Steve — so he was sent back to his room, all alone. Steve apologized furiously, but it was a meeting that he couldn’t miss. So he said. 

He trudged down his hallway and unlocked the door to his room. Once inside, he made straight for the bed and flopped down on it. It was nowhere near as large or as soft or as comfortable as Steve’s, he observed. He sighed heavily.

_ Is something the matter?  _ Jarvis asked, right on cue. 

“No,” he grumbled, wishing the computer would leave him alone. “I’m fine, Jarvis.” 

_ Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be glad to help. And might I suggest writing a diary entry?  _

It wasn’t a  _ diary,  _ but Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Jarvis.” 

He reached over to the table beside the bed, grabbing the little notebook and the pen. He didn’t know what he would even write. He had no reason to be upset — Steve hadn’t even canceled their plans. They’d just been  _ put off.  _ It was ridiculous. 

He never got around to writing anything. 

_ Sorry to bother you, sir.  _

“Yeah?” What could Jarvis possibly want from him now? Whatever it was, he didn’t want to hear it. 

_ Master Stark wants to speak with you. Are you free to talk? _

“Sure.” He put the book back on the table and looked expectantly up at the ceiling, waiting for Jarvis to connect the call. So much for writing a diary entry. 

The call never came. 

_ You will need to come downstairs as quickly as possible,  _ Jarvis said.  _ It’s something of an emergency. You’re… needed.  _

Bucky’s heart jumped into his throat. “What kind of emergency?” He asked in a small voice. He got up from the bed and started to put his shoes back on, pulling on a jacket and heading for the door. 

_ Nothing life-threatening,  _ Jarvis said. His words were rushed and crammed together. It was the first time Bucky had ever heard a computer  _ panic. But you might want to bring someone with you. I can call anyone you like.  _

Bucky didn’t know why he’d want someone to come with him.  _ Moral support?  _ It was ridiculous. He sighed. “If Steve can come, will you ask him?” 

Steve was the only person he could think of. He was too busy, anyway, so he’d turn him down, but he didn’t have anyone  _ else.  _

_ Captain Rogers is already downstairs. Please take the elevator down to sub-basement two.  _

“I — excuse me?” Bucky stammered, heading for the elevator as Jarvis requested. “Why is he already there? What’s he doing — what’s going on — what kind of  _ emergency…?”  _

_ It’s all right, sir,  _ Jarvis said, as calm and cool as ever.  _ It’s nothing life-threatening, just the procedure we have to follow. You will be okay.  _

“Yeah, right.” The moment Bucky had stepped into the elevator, the doors closed on him and it began to move. He didn’t have time to so much as look around before he was in the sub-basement. He was dizzy and light-headed from the quick drop as he stepped out onto the concrete floor. 

_ It’s down the hall on the right. The door is open.  _

“What’s down the hall on the right?” Bucky asked in irritation. He didn’t know where he was going or why Steve was there or what was happening or  _ anything  _ — the lightheadedness only got worse as he drew closer to the open door. Voices were coming from inside. They were hardly more than whispers. 

He stood in the doorway and knocked softly on the doorframe. 

There were four, no, five — no,  _ six  _ people there. They all turned around at once and stared at him. He stared back in horror. 

Steve was there, and Tony, and Sam. And Natasha. All of them sat around a wooden table that didn’t belong in the large, barren, concrete room. There was a man he didn’t recognize, tall and heavy-set and dressed in a suit. And, at the head of the table, was Dr. Stefurak. He cringed. 

“Come in,” Tony said softly. “Come on and sit down. We need to show you something.” 

There was an empty chair beside Steve, so he sat. Tony pushed a laptop towards him. 

“Can… can someone explain?” Bucky asked, looking around at them all. He was  _ scared  _ now — he worried that he was on the path towards having a panic attack in front of all these people. That would be humiliating under normal circumstances, but how could that happen while the rest of  _ whatever this was  _ was also going on? He took a couple of deep breaths in a vain attempt to calm himself down. Beside him, Steve and Nat were also tense. 

Tony cleared his throat. “The security footage we’re about to show you is self-explanatory,” he said, deadly serious for once. “You need to see it — it’s completely bizarre, and we’re hoping you can explain a few things for us. You aren’t in trouble, but it’s a matter of security and we need some answers.” 

Bucky didn’t have the slightest  _ idea  _ what that was supposed to mean. He nodded slightly. “Will you show me?” He asked because it didn’t look like Tony was going to stop being cryptic. 

Steve silently reached over and pressed the space bar on the laptop, and a video began to play. 

It was security footage. The screen showed a long, dark, empty hallway. The timestamp read just after four a.m.. Bucky watched intently to see what would  _ happen  _ on that screen that Tony wanted him to explain. 

Finally, after ten seconds of horrible, heart-pounding apprehension, the door at the end of the hall swung open and Bucky himself walked through it. His footsteps were slow and measured and purposeful — he was wide awake and alert. He raised his head and trained his eyes unblinkingly on the camera. Bucky stared back in real time, his eyes wide with fear, as the Bucky on the screen turned away and headed through another door. 

The screen changed, showing another view from another camera around the same time. The Bucky on the screen was wandering through what looked like an office. It was just a normal office — something even he recognized. There were file cabinets and desks and papers everywhere and computers. The man in the video was fascinated by all of it. Bucky had never seen it before. 

The man on the screen — Bucky — walked through offices and hallways and banks of computers and laboratories and things Bucky couldn’t even identify. 

At last, to his relief, Steve reached over and pressed the space bar again. 

Bucky looked up from the screen and found every single person in the room staring back at him. “I…” he trailed off, unable to find the words to describe what he’d just seen. 

Sam cleared his throat. “These look to us like normal sleepwalking behavior,” he said. “Which it could be. I’m sorry we had to call you in to speak to you about something so trivial, but the issue is where these videos came from.”

He was  _ sorry?  _ Yeah, right. As if a single one of these people was  _ sorry.  _ Why sugarcoat it?

“They’re from… well, restricted areas of the Tower. Places you shouldn’t be able to access, let alone walk around in unnoticed. What we want to know is if you remember any of it — maybe you woke up one night?”

“No,” Bucky said quickly. “I don’t remember any of it, I… I don’t know how I got in there, I’ve never seen those places, I swear!” His voice rose as he started to panic — these people would punish him if he didn’t come up with some kind of excuse or explanation or  _ something.  _ They would punish him  _ anyway.  _

“Okay,” Sam said softly. “It’s okay if you don’t remember. I just wanted to make sure, because that would make things easy. Do you know if you used to sleepwalk, or… is this new…?” 

“I don’t remember that, either,” Bucky admitted, fully aware that he was damning himself by giving such a vague, inconclusive answer. Steve might have known, but he wasn’t saying anything. 

Sam didn’t speak for a moment. He seemed to be thinking hard. 

It was Natasha who spoke up next. “I still don’t know what you plan to  _ do,  _ exactly, if you want to keep him out.” 

“Do you have any ideas?” Steve asked pointedly. 

She sighed. “I was hoping this meeting would do something  _ constructive _ .” 

Bucky found it hard to tell if she was sticking up for him or not. On the one hand, it was nice to have the attention off him, but she sounded angry. He sank a little in his seat, not meeting anyone’s eyes as they began to argue amongst themselves. 

Steve and Natasha’s voices were loud on either side of him — he could hardly  _ think  _ over the sound of the group’s bickering. He stopped paying attention to what they said, too. It was nothing to him except loud background noise. He did his best not to listen to the specifics. 

He was terrified of what he might hear. These people had complete control over him. He lived with them and depended on them and doubted he would survive on his own — he would have no means of defending himself if they threw him out or decided to lock him up or  _ God knew  _ what else. He looked around the table at the group, who were still arguing furiously. Natasha and Steve looked as though they were ready to start a real fight, and if that happened, well… the door was open. He could always just make a run for it. 

No fight broke out. He had no choice but to sit and watch as the arguing grew louder and louder all around him. It slowly escalated to yelling, then screaming, and he couldn’t tell who was on whose side or what anyone wanted. He looked meekly up at them all, waiting for one of them to  _ hurry up and decide  _ what his fate would be.

They paid him no mind. Jarvis was talking now, too, trying to de-escalate the situation. He had no success.

Bucky looked around at them all through increasingly unfocused eyes, his breathing rapidly becoming rough and heavy and ragged as his chest tightened. Everything became a blur around him, nothing but white noise and endless, violent movement. He was lost in a hazy sea of people who wouldn’t stop calling out his name —  _ his name  _ — over and over again until he couldn’t take it anymore and he opened his eyes. 

Everything had gone quiet again — when had that happened? Everyone was staring at him. 

Steve had his hand on his shoulder. He shook it gently. “Is everything all right?” He asked softly when he saw that Bucky was aware of what was happening around him again. 

“Yeah,” he said shakily. “I’m all right. It’s — what happened?”

“We don’t know,” Steve said, with an anxious glance over his shoulder at Dr. Stefurak. “You… I guess you fainted. I’m sorry, Buck. We didn’t… we didn’t realize.” 

Bucky nodded shakily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Had they at least decided what to do with him? He could only stand so much suspense. The dizzy, lightheaded feeling from the elevator was only getting worse. His skin was clammy and he was nauseous and he worried that he might faint again. That was something else that had never happened before. 

Steve sighed. “The only thing we can do is tighten up security around the places we’ve found you. Dr. Stefurak and Dr. Cho want to do some exams in the meantime and see if they can figure out what they can do about it, but… there’s only so much we  _ can  _ do. Don’t think it’s your fault, though, okay?” He added in a hushed voice. 

Bucky sat up a little in his seat, looking blearily around at the group. “Okay,” he said in a small voice. 


	21. Back to the Doctor's Office With You, Mr. Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, boy, I'm late again! How about that!

Bucky, still positively shell-shocked from the videos Tony and the others had shown them, was ushered up out of the sub-basement. He was accompanied by the entire group, which was excessive. Steve stood right beside him in the hall and the elevator, and he walked him all the way to Dr. Stefurak’s office. It was as if he expected him to faint again. 

He left him there at the door, as did the rest of the group aside from the doctor herself. She ushered him inside and gestured for him to sit down. 

She interrogated him about his dreams and his sleepwalking and his sleep habits, in more excruciating detail than he could supply. He did his best to answer, but she kept giving him odd, skeptical little looks that made him nervous. He stumbled and stuttered through the whole interview, worrying the entire time that he might faint again. The elevator ride upstairs had only made things worse. 

From her office, he was shuttled off to Dr. Cho, and then to a man named Bruce. They both poked and prodded at him with immense fascination — Bruce even went so far as to scan his arm for “trackers,” as he put it. Bucky had no  _ idea  _ what that meant, and he didn’t ask for an explanation. It didn’t matter what all that meant, anyway, because he found nothing. 

He sent Bucky away, trying and failing to conceal his disappointment. Bucky couldn’t have been more relieved to leave. 

Each of the doctors promised to tell him if they found anything “of note,” but even Bucky knew that there was nothing at all to be found. It was a mystery. 

* * *

  
  


He went back to his room, having nothing else to do that day. Not even Jarvis bothered him — the whole world seemed set on leaving him alone to think long and hard on what he’d done. 

He lay there on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and fuming silently, not wanting to get up and do anything, even though he was starving and Jarvis  _ would  _ start bothering him before long. 

A knock at the door made him jump. 

“Coming,” he called, sighing heavily. 

_ Agent Romanoff is outside,  _ Jarvis supplied helpfully.  _ Natasha to you.  _

Bucky swung the door open and found himself face-to-face with Natasha herself. He blinked in surprise. “Hey,” was all he could think of to say. What did they want now? She was probably just coming to take him back in for another round of tests. Or maybe they’d just forgotten something they needed to do. 

“Hey,” she said pleasantly. “Do you have a minute to talk? I just wanted to check in on you. I know you’re not in… you know. The nicest situation right now.”

He opened the door a little wider. “Do you wanna come in…?” He asked. “I mean — I’m okay. But maybe you want a drink or something?”

She nodded, stepping inside when Bucky moved to let her in. “A drink would be lovely, Bucky. Thank you.”

His room was a mess — the bed was unmade and there were clothes scattered on every surface. But the kitchen was clean, and Natasha made herself right at home. Bucky sat down at the table while she busied herself making a cup of tea. 

“I wanted to talk to you about HYDRA,” she said carefully, sitting down with her steaming hot cup of tea and pushing one towards Bucky, too. 

“What about it?” Bucky asked, his stomach sinking. He hadn’t so much as  _ thought  _ about HYDRA in ages, and he wasn’t prepared to start again. 

“I know it’s a lot for you to deal with,” she said. “But I know that’s where you’re from. That’s… that’s where I’m from, too. I know the kinds of things they do to people — the training they put you through, and the conditioning. I think they might be responsible for the… the episodes we saw today.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked. She was perfectly clear, of course, but he hated the way she talked about it — she was too kind and too  _ gentle.  _ It was unnatural to hear her speak that way. “I’m not with them anymore — I don’t even remember what they did to me! They can’t control me if I’m not  _ there.” _

Natasha took all that in stride. “They can’t give you directions,” she agreed. “Your handlers aren’t around to tell you what to do, I know.”

“So… how are they controlling me?” He asked. He knew nothing about HYDRA or how it worked, or what this “training” even was. Steve seemed to know more about him than he did, now — but maybe he could get a hold of those notebooks. It might clear things up for him a little. 

“They give you little protocols to follow, in certain situations. If your handlers aren’t there,” she explained. “They’re hard to fight — I have them, too. We find one every once in a while. Tony and Bruce are working on a procedure to remove them, but for now… there’s not much we can do.”

“So you think that’s what my… my  _ sleepwalking  _ is?” Bucky asked, incredulous. “HYDRA, what, remote-controlling me?” 

“Basically, yeah.” She gave him a pitying sort of look. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I know it’s a lot to take in, and it’s just a theory, anyway — but no one else would listen to me. I thought you might, and then you could talk to the doctors about it yourself. Or I could help, because I know… you know. A few things about them.”

He nodded slowly. He could see why no one believed her — she sounded insane — but at the same time, she’d experienced what she was telling him about  _ for herself.  _ It would be unfair of him not to hear her out and to try and tell the doctors. “I just don’t understand,” he said. “What would they get out of making me  _ sleepwalk?” _

“Think about the tapes we saw,” she said instantly. She’d thought this out, Bucky realized with resignation. She’d thought it out a hell of a lot better than the  _ doctors  _ had. “You were looking at offices and computers and  _ restricted areas.  _ I think they were collecting data.”

“What kind of data?” Bucky asked. 

It didn’t feel like they were talking about him — watching the tapes had been akin to an out-of-body experience, and this was even *stranger*. It was more like the man in the videos was a distant relative of his, who even Bucky knew needed to be locked up, but who everyone was reluctant to do anything about. 

“Anything,” Natasha said dismissively. “There’s so much to find around the Tower — old files and things. Tony’s notes and blueprints… Bruce’s papers. Even  _ Jarvis  _ might be in danger. I talked Bruce into checking you for trackers, just in case there was something obvious to get rid of, but… nothing. If that’s what they’re doing, it’ll be damn hard to make them stop.”

“But don’t you think it could be normal?” Bucky asked, desperate for some kind of reassurance, even if that “reassurance” was Natasha telling him he was going crazy. “Don’t you think it could just be, you know… more  _ natural  _ causes?”

“Could be,” she said. “I could be wrong. We’ll know soon enough — the tests the doctors did will give us some kind of answers.” She sighed. “But if you’re comfortable with it, tell the doctors or your therapist or Jarvis or  _ somebody  _ about what I told you, okay? I think they’ll listen.” 

They probably wouldn’t listen to him if they hadn’t listened to her, but he nodded. “Yeah, thanks, Nat. I’ll ask Dr. Stefurak about it next time I see her.” 

That would be soon. She’d made a point of scheduling him a new appointment  _ every damn Tuesday  _ and  _ Thursday  _ for the next month. They were free, and he had nothing else to do, so he couldn’t really refuse. 

“Any time.” She smiled gently. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?” She added as if she hadn’t been the one to drop by unexpectedly in the first place. 

He shook his head. “I… I don’t think so,” he admitted, even though the thought of being left all alone in his room again filled him with dread. “I think that’s all…?” 

“Thanks for hearing me out, then,” she said, taking her empty cup over to the sink. “I’ll see you around?” 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Bucky agreed. 

She was gone, just like that, as quickly as she’d come. 

Bucky finished his tea and put his cup in the sink beside hers. He’d do the dishes later when he felt better. Maybe sometime next week. 

He went back to bed and picked up the notebook from the nightstand where he’d left it. If he kept having shitty days like this, it would be full before he even had time to go out and buy another one. 

He clicked his pen, fiddling with it as he tried to decide where to start. He didn’t bother with a date this time — he didn’t remember what the date  _ was,  _ anyway. 

_ I’ve been sleepwalking. _

_ Tony and Steve and everyone else seems to think I’m dangerous. Natasha thinks HYDRA sent me to collect some kind of  _ data  _ on what’s going on in the Tower — in which case I think I  _ am  _ dangerous, but there’s nothing they can do either way except “tighten security.” I had to go to see a bunch of doctors, too, and they checked me over like they were going to find some kind of fucking tracker on me that they could remove. As if it would be that easy. I don’t know much about HYDRA, but I know they wouldn’t put a tracker where anybody can just pull it off.  _

_ And Tony was even worse. I know he called the whole meeting, to begin with. He gathered everybody up to see ten or twenty videos of me  _ sleepwalking,  _ which is just humiliating and I think he did it on purpose. Maybe as some kind of fucked-up punishment.  _

_ Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am dangerous, but they could treat me a little more gently. I haven’t hurt— _

His pen went straight through the paper. He didn’t realize how quickly he’d been writing or how hard he’d been pressing down — but he stared down at the torn, ink-stained paper in defeat. He’d ruined the notebook. 

He scribbled one last word,  _ anyone,  _ and put the book away, curling up on the bed and trying to fall asleep — not that he got far. 

His whole body was so tense that it  _ ached,  _ and his head throbbed on top of that — but it wasn’t much compared with the shame he still felt. He recalled how he’d been so afraid of them and what they were going to do to him that he’d  _ fainted  _ — what did they think of him now? They probably saw him as weak, and they were right. He was some weak little fool who couldn’t help but  _ faint  _ at the first sign of a threat. 

As he lay there, he thought more and more about the videos and the sleepwalking and how he’d fainted, and he got more and more frustrated at his inability to sleep, which only made sleeping  _ harder.  _

Finally, the phone rang, and he was rescued. Without so much as checking the caller ID, he picked it up. 

“Hello?” Said the voice on the other end. 

“Who is this?” Bucky demanded, not bothering to mask his annoyance. 

“It’s Steve,” said the voice, and Bucky recognized it immediately. 

“Oh.”

“I just wanted to check in on you,” Steve said, far too gently. “I was worried, after what happened at the meeting.”

“Oh, were you?” Bucky’s face went red. Steve hadn’t been worried. No one at that meeting had been worried about him. 

“I was!” Steve protested. “I’m sorry, Buck. I know it was a lot to go through, but that’s why I’m checking in on you. You  _ are  _ okay, right?”

“Do I  _ sound  _ okay to you?” Bucky snapped. The words were hardly out of his mouth before he tore the phone away from his ear and hung up. 

He was fine. He just needed a nap. He put the phone on the nightstand beside the notebook and rolled over, ignoring it while it rang again and again. Steve was such an idiot, thinking he could  _ help.  _ He’d caused the entire problem in the first place — he and Tony together. It was all their fault and he was  _ never  _ going to be able to forgive them. But at the same time, it was nice of Steve and Natasha to  _ try.  _


	22. Pathetic Fallacy? Who's She?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I know it's eleven p.m. on a Wednesday, but just think of it as a Christmas present, okay? (Or whatever holiday you happen to celebrate.) Happy holidays! 
> 
> TW:  
> Bucky's PTSD, resulting paranoia/delusions.   
> Occurs in the second half of the chapter only.

Bucky’s “nap” lasted all night. He woke up the morning after, surprised to find dim, gray light coming in through the windows. He winced, burying his face in his pillow to hide from it because it was already giving him a migraine. Maybe he’d just stay in bed and relax a while — he might order some curtains, too, while he was at it. The ones on the windows were thin and flimsy and blocked no light at all. 

But he couldn’t stay in bed — he was uncomfortable. His stomach squirmed with guilt. He didn’t recognize the reason at first, but there it was at the back of his mind. The videos, HYDRA, Natasha… all of it. 

He pushed the pillow aside and sat up, pushing his hair back from his face with trembling hands. He’d just started to get along with Steve again. Now, after that, Steve would hate him and he’d be lonely forever. Even if he did talk to his therapist and make it all right, he remembered how Steve had  _ looked  _ at him from his spot at the table and how he’d escorted him to Dr. Stefurak’s office, as if he expected him to make more trouble at any moment. 

He never wanted to talk to Steve again. He never wanted to  _ see  _ Steve again. 

He wouldn’t be able to cope with the shame that would bring him, and to make matters worse, he’d sleepwalked again last night. It had taken him a moment to remember, but now he could recall waking up in the kitchen to the sound of Jarvis’s voice — he’d gone back to his room and fallen asleep again. 

If they were keeping track of the security tapes, though, Steve would know about this latest episode. So would Natasha and Sam and everyone else — they would  _ all  _ know he’d done it again. They’d know he’d failed to stop  _ endangering them.  _ The thought was too much for him. 

He got up from the bed and haphazardly gathered up a set of clean clothes, storming into the bathroom to take a shower and get dressed. There was no reason to bother getting dressed — he had nowhere to go. But maybe it would make him feel better, if not about the sleepwalking, at least about  _ himself.  _ So he got dressed, and he went back to his kitchen to find himself something to eat. 

He wasn’t hungry. The thought of food made his stomach clench with nausea, but he forced down a granola bar and a glass of water anyway. He’d forgotten to eat dinner the night before. The lack of food would probably start to make him sick soon, but he didn’t care. At least he’d slept. 

_ Are you all right, sir?  _ Jarvis piped up, startling Bucky. 

“I’m  _ fine,”  _ he snapped, dropping his empty glass into the sink so harshly that it cracked. “Shit.”

_ I can call a doctor for you if you like? It will be beneficial in the long run.  _

“I’m  _ fine,”  _ he repeated. “God, Jarvis. I don’t need your help. I’m fine!” 

_ Very well, then. Let me know if you change your mind, please. I will be happy to help you.  _

Bucky turned away pointedly and headed for the door. There was nowhere for him to go, and nothing for him to do, but he left his room and walked down the hall, keeping his head down as though he could avoid the cameras. He wandered aimlessly, lost in thought. 

He probably looked a lot like his sleepwalking self on camera, but he didn’t notice or care, and it was broad daylight, anyway. He was no threat to anyone in daylight. 

He took the stairs all the way to ground level and made his way outside. This, at least, was a conscious decision on his part. Some fresh air would do him some good — at least according to the little voice in the back of his mind, which really did sound a lot like Jarvis sometimes. 

So he went outside. Rain poured down in sheets and soaked his hair and his clothes in  _ seconds  _ — but he hardly noticed. He walked down the street, his slow footsteps splashing in deep puddles and soaking the cuffs of his pants. His feet were bare. He’d forgotten to put on a pair of shoes. 

The rain drove down harder and harder, pounding against the back of Bucky’s neck and soaking him through. The sound of it echoed in his ears and gave him a migraine, but he ignored it and kept walking. He was shivering, but it was a nice distraction from the tapes that played over and over again in his mind. The pounding of his head distracted him, too, from the look on the man’s face in the videos, and the puddles he splashed through made it difficult to think about how everyone had argued over what to do with him in that little concrete room. 

All these little things distracted him so well that he wasn’t even aware of the man who had come up behind him until it was too late. 

“Bucky!” He called, too loudly. 

Bucky whirled around, raising his fist to defend himself, just in case it was someone from the Tower coming to take him away and lock him up. “What?” 

It was just Steve. “Hey, hey, it’s me,” he said hurriedly, holding one hand up defensively. “Sorry if I startled you,” he added loudly, over the sound of the rain. “Come back to the Tower with me. You shouldn’t be out in the rain.” 

Something about the request set him on edge. He already didn’t want to see Steve, let alone speak to him, let alone walk all the way back to the Tower with him. “No,” he said hastily. “I’m not going anywhere with you!” 

There was no telling what was waiting for him at the Tower, anyway. They could have more videos to show him, or they could lock him up… they could punish him some other way. 

“Please?” Steve asked. “You’re gonna get sick out here. It’s not good for you. It’s too  _ cold,  _ Buck.” 

“Oh, don’t call me that,” Bucky snapped. “You just — you just don’t want me outside. You think I can do  _ damage  _ to your  _ company,  _ or whatever all this is —” He gestured wildly back in the direction of the Tower. “You think I’m just wandering around and causing trouble, after what you saw!” Shame rose in his gut and nearly boiled over. He could have thrown up — he felt sick and guilty and anxious, and he was  _ ashamed.  _ He was ashamed to act this way in front of someone as important as Steve, and especially out in public, even if there was no one around. 

“No, I don’t,” Steve was taken aback. “Please come inside, Buck. You’re gonna get sick and you don’t even have  _ shoes  _ on and you’re not supposed to be outside without permission anyway!” 

“What?” He’d already given in because there was no point arguing. He was cold and wet and he really didn’t have any shoes. Once he was inside, he could go back to his room to hide from Steve. But what did he  _ mean  _ — surely, Bucky could go outside without anyone’s permission!

“No, I… never mind,” Steve said. “Sorry. I’m… I’ll tell you when we get inside?”

Bucky nodded sullenly and turned to walk back to the Tower. Steve went with him, not saying another word. He tried not to think about it. It was unimportant — probably just another safety precaution — but  _ why?  _ It stung, just a little, that these people were so afraid of him that they couldn’t even let him out of the Tower without their permission. 

He didn’t have long to dwell on the matter, though, because they were back to the Tower in no time. He hadn’t walked very far at all. 

As the doors opened, he was hit with a blast of frigid air from within — it was even colder than the rain. He balked, trying to turn around and go back outside — he’d rather stay out in the rain for the rest of his life than try to go inside with the air conditioner blasting. 

Steve turned around to look at him, and the sheer  _ annoyance  _ on his face — the way his brow creased and how his face was slightly pink and how he  _ frowned  _ — was what finally convinced Bucky to come inside. 

The cold air surrounded him, seeming to want to push him back through the door into the icy rain. Tony must have been blasting the air conditioner, but  _ why?  _ It was November. 

Bucky stood there in the lobby, shivering violently and wondering if Tony had taken it upon himself to punish him. He was going to freeze to death right then and there. Steve seemed to be protected. He looked perfectly warm and comfortable, even in his wet t-shirt. 

“You should… you should get upstairs,” Steve said quietly. “Take a hot shower and get a change of clothes…?” 

“Yeah. I’m — I’m fine,” Bucky said under his breath, still standing there in the doorway. 

The door was ajar — the freezing wind was blowing in, accompanied by rain, as if he wasn’t already cold enough. He was  _ desperate  _ to get upstairs and change into something warm, but if he let Steve accompany him there, he would never make it upstairs. Steve would take him back down to the basement. It would be colder there than it was up here. Steve would put him in a little metal chamber and fasten an oxygen mask over his face and close the door and it would get colder and colder and colder and then everything would fade away. 

Just like HYDRA used to do — just like how they’d put him to sleep the last time, and they hadn’t come back for him.  _ Tony  _ had been the one to find him. He’d woken up alone in that terrible, empty room, the metal chamber that HYDRA liked to use for cryosleep broken open so that he was exposed. The terrible, metal man —  _ Tony  _ — had been standing over him, and everything had gone black once again. 

He couldn’t let that happen again. Steve or Tony would put him to sleep this time, so naturally, he would have to wake up in the empty, half-collapsed basement with one of his handlers standing over him. That was somehow worse than Tony. 

“Bucky?” 

Bucky looked up, startled by the sound of his name. He’d been thinking too much — he’d lost track of what was happening around him. 

Steve was standing on the other side of the lobby now. He was facing him, his eyebrows drawn together in that  _ insufferable  _ worried look. “Bucky — come on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t put on some dry clothes, at least.” 

He was going to freeze to death regardless. “No,” he said, deathly quiet. He stayed where he was. 

Steve came back the other way. “Bucky, please. What are you going to do, stay there all day…? It’s too cold, and you’re all wet…” 

Bucky shook his head frantically. “No — please, Steve. I’m — I’m fine.” He’d just go back up to his room once Steve was safely out of sight, and once he was sure he was too far away to drag him down to the basement where they kept the cryosleep technology. 

“ _ Bucky!”  _ Steve protested. “Come on… it’s too  _ cold,  _ why can’t you just come upstairs?” 

“I can go by myself,” Bucky insisted, taking a step back towards the door. He was shivering harder now, imagining against his will what that cold metal box was like. He remembered the harsh smell of cold metal and the chill that bit him right down to the bone and the way his metal arm froze all the way to where it connected with the muscle in his shoulder. He couldn’t do that again — he’d rather run back out into the cold and freeze out there than be stuffed back into HYDRA’s metal box. 

He sobbed quietly, backing himself against the door. His hand found the handle just as it locked with an audible click. 

Steve backed up, too. He was wide-eyed and horrified and  _ scared.  _ “Bucky,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I’ll — do you want me to go?”

Bucky couldn’t answer. He sank back against the locked door, pulling at the handle in his attempts to open it, to no avail. Even if he ran, Steve would catch up to him again like he had before. He’d catch up  _ easily  _ and haul him back to the Tower and put him in the basement for safekeeping. 

Steve was in the middle of the lobby now, looking around helplessly — probably for  _ reinforcements.  _ If he was going to call for help, and he was, now, yelling in a high-pitched and desperate sort of voice that Bucky didn’t think was at all warranted. 

But in any case, if reinforcements were coming, he was done for. He sank to the floor, his already-soaked clothes sinking into the little puddle of water on the floor where he’d been standing a moment before. He shivered and gasped for breath and watched Steve from where he sat, waiting for the reinforcements to come. _ Any minute now. _

Any minute now, they’d come crashing through the door at the other end of the hall, and they’d cuff him — or maybe stun him or taze him or shoot him or some other awful thing — and they’d carry him away to the basement to the old, rusty cryo chamber. That would be the end of him. 

No one came. 

Dimly, Bucky heard a voice that seemed to come from nowhere. It must have been in his head, except that across the room, Steve heard it, too. He seemed to be able to make out the words quite a bit better than Bucky could, too, because he was nodding along and  _ talking back.  _

Bucky watched this spectacle, his panic slowly ebbing as it became clearer that Steve was on his own. He still looked frantic, over there in the middle of the room, waving his arms and raising his voice at nothing. He was a madman. It would have been amusing, if not for the fact that he was trying to put Bucky to sleep. 

Finally, the conversation came to a close. Steve seemed to collect himself. He turned and approached Bucky again. 

Bucky shrank back against the door, pulling his knees up to his chest and instinctively making himself a smaller target. Steve came closer still, apparently unperturbed. 

“Hey,” he said at last, in a gentler voice than Bucky would have expected under the circumstances. He crouched down in front of him, looking down at him with what might have been concern. 

Bucky straightened up, taken aback by this sudden change in Steve’s demeanor. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he continued, still in that unnervingly soft voice. “I’m really sorry, Bucky…”

He shrank away a little, but he didn’t try to escape. This was all strange and new to him and he didn’t know what to  _ do.  _ His handlers never acted this way. Steve had helped him through an episode like this one before, of course, but he’d  _ trusted  _ him then. This was different. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Steve added. “I’d never hurt you. You’re safe here, Buck. I’m just looking out for you.”

“You  _ did  _ scare me,” Bucky said, finding his voice at last. It was stupid of him to say that, and he was still scared, too, but he said it anyway. “You did scare me, Steve.”

He nodded. “I know. And I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, Buck.” 

Bucky looked up at him skeptically. “It’s too cold in here,” he said. “I… it freaked me out. I’m sorry, too.” He was a little more himself now — things were coming back to him in bits and pieces. His episode still didn’t make any sense, but it was  _ embarrassing.  _ What was worse was that Steve had seen all of it. Why was it Steve, of all people? Couldn’t it have been someone more-easy going, or at the very least someone Bucky didn’t know?

“What do you mean?” Steve asked. 

“I… I don’t know.” He needed to have another talk with Dr. Stefurak. “I just… it’s never happened before. I… I just — I just  _ freaked out.  _ You saw. It’s so damn cold and… I can’t handle it.” It was still bitterly cold in the lobby, but he was fine now. He wasn’t even  _ shivering.  _

Steve nodded. “I don’t like being cold, either. Have some… you know… issues with it.” 

Tony had told Bucky about that— he assumed Steve meant his encounter with the Atlantic Ocean — a long time ago. He remembered. He sighed. “Yeah. I know. You should go and get changed if it bothers you…?” 

He was still eager to get rid of Steve so that he could go upstairs and change into his own dry clothes and forget about all this. There was also the looming possibility of Steve having an episode like the one he’d just had. Now that he was recovering, he wouldn’t wish that on anyone. 

“Yeah.” Steve sighed. “You wanna come with me? I really do need to get warmed up.” He held his hand out to Bucky. 

He reached out to take it, not having much of a choice. Steve wasn’t going anywhere until he agreed to go upstairs, and he didn’t want to get up until he was safely alone. If one of them didn’t make a move, they’d both be stuck downstairs all day. 

Steve only let go of his hand once he was on his feet and they were both walking back towards the elevator. He didn’t make it awkward by holding on too long. Actually, his hand was warm and soft, and he didn’t make a big deal about any of it. He’d only helped him up, but it had almost felt like they were holding hands. It was embarrassing, how much he liked it. It was a good distraction, too, from the way his chest still ached and his legs shook. 

He tucked his hands into his pockets, standing beside Steve as they waited for the elevator. 

The doors opened for them seemingly seconds after he’d pressed the button, and they were inside. Steve leaned back against the wall and stared up at the blank ceiling. He’d already pushed the buttons for both Bucky’s floor and his own — Bucky didn’t have to make up his mind about where he was going. He hardly remembered which floor his room was on, anyway. 

“Do you wanna talk about this later?” Steve asked suddenly, as the doors slid open on Bucky’s floor. 

“Yeah. I’d… I’d like that.” Bucky looked up at him uncertainly. That was a terrible idea, no matter how Steve tried to frame it. He couldn't just tell him everything about his episode and the sleepwalking and the day he'd had. Steve knew most of it already, but what little he didn't know, Bucky would rather keep to himself.  The doors didn’t close, and he got the sense that they were waiting for him to finish up his talk with Steve. “I mean… if it’s… you know, okay for you?” It would be horribly awkward, trying to talk about what happened. Steve wasn’t comfortable with it — he kept shifting on his feet, refusing to look Bucky in the eye. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that he felt guilty. 

“No, no, it’s okay with me,” Steve said hurriedly. “I just… you know. I’ve been worried about you.”

“You — you have?” Bucky blushed, feeling like an idiot. He didn't even _like_ Steve. What did it matter to him? 

“Yeah.” He didn’t even look ashamed, or at least no more so than he’d been a moment ago. “Ever since the meeting we had. Must have been stressful for you, huh?”

Steve had no idea. He nodded. “It was… it was  _ weird,  _ I guess. And you know... _it_ happened again tonight.” That was  _ not  _ something he should have told anyone, but it was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his face downcast and appropriately resigned. “They’re… they’re working on figuring you out. You haven’t done anything wrong, though. You’re just  _ sleepwalking.  _ I think it’s ridiculous. Nothing for them to panic over.”

Bucky found himself smiling, suddenly. “Yeah. I know.” That wasn’t how Steve had looked at the meeting — he’d been all suspicious and scared, just like the rest of them. Angry, too. Even if he didn’t quite believe him, it was a relief for someone to finally try and take his side. “Do you wanna call me or something later?” He asked quietly. The elevator doors were still open. They’d better make this quick. 

“I think that’d be a good idea,” Steve agreed. “Later tonight? I’ll see what I can do at about eight or so.” 

“Sounds… good. Talk to you then?” 

“Yeah, talk to you then,” he confirmed. 

As soon as Bucky was out of the elevator, the doors closed and Steve was gone. He went back to his room, feeling far better than he had in a while, even despite his lingering exhaustion.


	23. Bone Marrow, and Other Terrible Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting!  
> Happy reading, y'all.

Bucky retreated to his room, and before he could even sit down, he was greeted by Jarvis. 

_ Please contact your therapist. An episode like that can become dangerous if you do not treat the source of the incident.  _

“I know,” Bucky muttered. “Thanks for reminding me.” 

Jarvis’s pleasant little reminder only served to make him more anxious. His hands trembled as he sat down at the kitchen table. He thought about making himself tea, but both of his mugs were dirty and he couldn’t wash them in the state he was in. 

He settled for drinking the rest of the glass of water he’d left from the night before. He stayed there at the table, taking shaky, shallow breaths until he was calm enough to breathe deeply. He could have fallen asleep there. The table was anything but comfortable, but his sudden exhaustion weighed him down so much that he couldn’t stand to get out of his chair for a few minutes. 

Maybe coffee was what he needed, but he could already imagine Jarvis insisting that he have something with less caffeine instead. And maybe that was the healthier option anyway. 

He sighed to himself, cursing Jarvis for infiltrating his thoughts so thoroughly. 

Right on cue, he spoke up.  _ I suggest that you make a diary entry for today. If you aren’t going to speak with Dr. Stefurak.  _

Sometimes, Jarvis made Bucky want to throw something. “It’s not a diary,” he insisted. “I’ll write in it, though, if you stop pestering me about the doctor. I’ll call her, okay? Just not right now.” 

_ Very well, sir. _

Wishing he hadn’t been so rude to Jarvis, he got up from the table and sat on the bed instead. He picked up the notebook from the table. It was already worn, the corners of the cover crinkled and the pages bent. Some of them were punctured, too, he observed as he flipped to a blank page. He really should have been more gentle, but he hoped Steve would at least be happy that he was using it. It did help him to vent his feelings, sometimes. Even if it was childish. 

He didn’t bother to date the page this time. He didn’t know what the date was and it didn’t matter, either — it wasn’t worth asking Jarvis, at any rate. 

_ I sleepwalked last night. I remember that one because Jarvis woke me up in the kitchen in the middle of it. I don’t know why he can’t do that every time, but I do know it scared the shit out of me. I hate walking down the hall when it’s dark and seeing those videos sure didn’t help. I almost expected to run into the guy from the tapes wandering down the hall, which didn’t make any sense because he was me, obviously, but it was all so fucking  _ creepy.  _ I’m going to have to have someone lock me into my room tonight. I’ll die if that happens again.  _

_ Okay, well, maybe that’s being melodramatic. _

_ I’m still thinking about what Nat said to me, too. About HYDRA using me to collect data. I hate it, but I think there’s a chance she’s right, so I’d better tell someone. Just in case. I just wish I knew who to tell because that’s kind of a heavy thing to just say to someone. Maybe Steve would listen, though. He’s usually nice to me. And I think he’s friends with Nat.  _

_ I also had this weird little episode today. I don’t want to write about it, because it was  _ awful _ , and I’m going to have to tell Dr. Stefurak anyway. I’ll do my best to forget about it after that.  _

_ Steve is the only person who saw, as far as I know. And Jarvis, but he doesn’t really count. What worries me is that it’s on the security tapes. They might see those next — what if they call another meeting to talk to me about it? I don’t think I could handle that. But Steve offered to talk to me about it, or, well, I asked him to call me. So maybe that’s gonna be our meeting, and we can just get it all out of the way. I’m not looking forward to it, but Steve’s nice. And maybe talking to him will be helpful. Who knows? _

He stopped writing. He didn’t have much more to say — nothing helpful, anyway. He could go on for a while about how strange it had been to be found out in the rain by Steve, and how terrible and  _ humiliating  _ it had been to be brought back inside, but that would just be a waste of ink and paper. It would resolve nothing. 

He settled for flipping through his earlier entries while he waited for Steve to call. It embarrassed him, how messy they were — not that anyone would ever see. That was comforting. There were no security cameras in his room, and Jarvis could keep a secret. 

Finally, the silence was broken by the sound of his cell phone ringing. He put the notebook aside to answer it. It was only seven-thirty, but he’d been bored. He wasn’t complaining. “Hello? Steve?”

“Hey, Bucky.” There was a moment’s silence. “You doing better?”

“Yeah. I’m… I’m fine.” Now that he had Steve on the phone, there wasn’t much to talk about. He wasn’t even sure talking about it had been such a good idea in the first place. “Just tired.”

“I know. Stuff like that really tires you out sometimes.” 

“It… it does?” How did  _ Steve  _ know that? 

“Yeah.” He sighed. “It’s not as rare as you’d think, you know. Happens to me, too. And a lot of other people I know.”

“You’re kidding.” Bucky knew how to recognize a practical joke when he saw one. 

“No, I’m not!” Steve protested. “It’s not exactly the same for everybody, but it’s just what happens when you’ve been through the kinds of things we have.” 

“Okay, fine.” He didn’t like the way Steve kept suggesting that it happened to everybody. He’d never  _ seen  _ it happen to anyone before — but then again, his memory these days was so terrible, he might not know if he had. “It happens sometimes.”

“Yeah. Happens all the time. And it’s okay, y’know?”

It wasn’t. Not really, not to Bucky.

“If it’s the first one you’ve ever had… well, that one’s usually the worst,” Steve said. 

“But I’ve had — I’ve had panic attacks and stuff before,” Bucky pointed out. “What makes this different?” Steve knew about his panic attacks. The two of them had even talked about it before. 

“I know. They’re not quite the same,” Steve said. His voice was flat and indifferent and it unnerved Bucky a little — how could he care  _ so little  _ about something so terrifying? “It’s not the same thing, Buck. I guess Dr. Stefurak could explain the difference a little better than I could.”

“I’m going to talk to her,” Bucky said. “I’ll get around to it.”

“So what was it you wanted to talk to me about, anyway?” He asked. 

Bucky had all but forgotten that he’d been the one to ask him to call in the first place. “I… I dunno.” Steve wasn’t his therapist — they didn’t have much to talk about at all. 

“Well… I’m not very good at helping with this sort of thing,” Steve admitted, in a flustered sort of voice. “But if you wanna tell me what that episode was like for you — or why you were outside earlier? You — you don’t have to,” he added hastily. “No big deal.” 

He appreciated the hesitation, but for the moment, Steve was there and talking to him was easier than the prospect of calling Dr. Stefurak and scheduling an appointment. “I don’t know,” he said at last, and truthfully. “I guess I was just stressed out about… you know. The meeting. And I sleepwalked again last night,” he added. 

“Really?” Steve asked. “How do you know?” 

“Jarvis woke me up in the middle of the night,” Bucky confessed. “I was in the kitchen. The walk back was  _ awful.  _ The hallway outside my room is so creepy at night, and the surveillance tapes just made it worse. I guess I was paranoid, but I  _ hated  _ it.”

“Yeah. I know,” Steve said gently. “You never used to sleepwalk. That’s new, as far as I know. But Jarvis woke you up this time, and he’s designed to learn and get better at things like that, so he might wake you up before you even get out of your room next time.” 

“He can  _ learn?”  _ Bucky asked. He hardly heard the rest of what Steve had said — Jarvis could  _ learn.  _ That was kind of amazing, for a computer. “How? You’re kidding me.” 

“No,” Steve said, in a put-out kind of way. “He can do all kinds of things, Buck. You’ve lived with him for ages.”

“Okay, okay.” He sighed. “Do you think Tony will tell me more about him?”

“I’m sure he’d be delighted. He’s not too busy these days.”

“Really? He seemed busy with his security system last time I saw him.”

Bucky could almost hear Steve rolling his eyes. “Bucky… please. That’s not all he does. Besides, it’s his Tower. And he’s pretty paranoid.”

“I’ll say.” He’d forgotten all about Jarvis. He’d been a nice distraction, though, for a moment. “You guys are  _ all  _ paranoid. You should have seen the tests they did on me, Steve.” 

“I know the kinds of things they do, Buck.”

“What, they do them to you, too?” Bucky asked. He raised his eyebrows, just waiting for him to backtrack.

He didn’t. “Yeah, they like running all sorts of tests on me,” Steve said dismissively. “I’m  _ interesting.  _ Dr. Cho likes me. So does Bruce. They’re not trying to replicate the serum anymore, but they’re still hell-bent on making me into  _ something  _ useful. It sucks. I know.”

“Bruce wants to open my arm up and dig around in there,” Bucky said blandly. “He  _ says  _ it’s so he can look for trackers, but he already scanned and x-rayed and whatever else. I don’t see what opening me up can do.” 

“Bruce is trustworthy,” Steve assured him. “He knows what he’s doing. Some of it’s probably scientific curiosity, for sure, but… not that much. He just wants to help.” 

“But they… they run tests on you?” Bucky asked. “What kinds of tests?” He’d been through all of them the day before, surely. What more  _ was  _ there to put Steve through?  _ He  _ wasn’t sneaking around the Tower where he wasn’t supposed to be. He was America’s Golden Boy, actually — he didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. 

“They’re not so bad,” Steve said. The surprise in his voice caught Bucky off-guard. “Blood tests and stuff. X-rays. Once Bruce took a bone marrow sample, which was… kind of awful, but he used it for something good, you know?” 

“ _ Bone marrow?”  _ Bucky repeated, scandalized. 

Steve was saying something, trying to play it off like it was no big deal, but it was too late. He could only imagine what that must have been like for him. Had they put him to sleep? Had Bruce used a needle? Some kind of pump? Probably a needle — he cringed a little at the thought. 

“Jesus, Stevie. I’m sorry.” 

“No,  _ really,”  _ he insisted. “It’s okay. I don’t  _ mind. _ ” 

“But that’s horrible!” Bucky protested, still struggling to think of something besides bone marrow. “How could he do that to you? And for — for what?”

“Bucky, really, it’s okay,” Steve said. His voice was too light and too casual and he almost could have been laughing. 

“It’s not — “

“ _ Bucky,”  _ he said, more sternly, which got Bucky’s attention. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Steve laughed to himself — really laughed this time. “Don’t worry. It’s nice of you to be concerned. But… I’m on my way back to the Tower right now. I was at a meeting. Do you want me to bring you dinner?” 

“I wouldn’t mind.” Bucky’s stomach growled, right on cue. He hadn’t eaten in a while. 

“I’ll be at the restaurant in a few minutes,” Steve said. “Want me to stay ‘till then? It’s real close to the Tower, anyway.”

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed. He’d  _ love  _ for Steve to stay on the phone with him a while longer. “That’d be… nice.” 

“Yeah. Wouldn’t it?” Steve agreed. “You can come up to my place for dinner, too, if you want.”

“You sure?” Bucky asked. “I mean… if you’re busy tonight…” He already suspected that Steve had only found him earlier that day because he’d been on the way to some important meeting of his. He couldn’t make him late  _ twice  _ in one day. 

“No, of course not. I was just going to order myself some takeout and eat in. That’s all,” Steve said dismissively. 

“Me, too.” Bucky laughed softly. “Sounds like a pretty good night to me.”

“Yeah, me too,” Steve agreed. 

There was a brief lull in their conversation, during which Bucky could hear a car horn blaring on Steve’s end. 

“I’m supposed to have dinner with some friends in a couple of days,” Steve blurted. “Do you want to come? I mean… it’s just upstairs. And it’s no big deal if you don’t want to. I just thought… you know. It might be fun.” 

“Well… I’d like to,” Bucky said. His face had gone pink — he did his best to hide it in his free hand, even though no one was around to see. Steve was inviting him to  _ dinner.  _ He was ridiculous, sometimes, but it sounded almost  _ nice.  _ “Who’s going to be there?” 

Steve hesitated. “Well… you know. Some friends of mine. Natasha. Sam, and Bruce, probably.”

Bucky wanted to ask how Steve could consider Bruce a friend, but he held his tongue. 

“Tony, too. He always comes. And some other people, who I don’t think you’ve met yet.” 

That sounded a whole lot like the meeting to Bucky, but it was too late to take it back. He’d agreed to go. It didn’t even sound so bad. 

“I can… introduce you,” Steve offered. “To everyone you haven’t met yet. You’ll like them. They’re… they’re really nice.”

“They are?” Bucky asked, with equal parts scorn and genuine surprise. 

“Yeah.” Steve might have been smiling. “I think you should give them a chance. And… really, I’m sorry about the way we all treated you the other day. You didn’t deserve that. We all know we were too harsh, and I think they’d like the chance to make it up to you.”

“With dinner?” 

“Yeah. Bruce is a really good cook. You’ll see.” 

_ Bruce?  _ Really? “Okay.” Bucky gave in. “I’d really like to come, Steve. It sounds nice, and maybe… maybe they really aren’t so bad.” 

“Yeah. They’re nicer once you get to know them, I promise. I’ll tell you when I know what time we’re going, okay? And I’ll pick you up so I can walk you over, too.”

“Thanks.” 

Steve was really too kind. Bucky would have been fine all alone in his room, too, but… if he insisted. Something homemade for once would be infinitely better than cookout. 

“No problem,” Steve said. “I gotta go, though, okay? I’m about to order. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Yeah. See you.” His heart pounded in his throat as he hung up the phone and set it down. He didn’t know what kind of food Steve was ordering for them, and it didn’t matter anyway. All he wanted was to go upstairs and spend the rest of his evening with him. They’d used to do that. They’d eaten nearly every meal together in the forties, and they’d tried to keep it up more recently. Maybe it could work for them in this century, after all, he thought as he changed from his sweatpants into more presentable clothes.


	24. The Notebook(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry to be posting on a Monday (late again!).   
> I go back to school tomorrow, too. Yay.

Bucky left Steve’s apartment late that night, long after dinner was over. Steve had stopped at an Indian restaurant on the way home — it had been a little while since Bucky had a hot meal like that once. There were no leftovers for him to take home with him. 

The two of them had spent their evening talking. Steve was  _ remarkably  _ easy to talk to, once Bucky was willing to open up to him. They didn’t discuss anything important, because Bucky was tired of even _ thinking  _ about HYDRA, and Steve was happy to oblige. Instead, they’d talked about what little Bucky remembered from the forties. 

There wasn’t much to talk about, really, but once he thought about it, Bucky could dredge up names and places and even  _ stories,  _ ones that Steve remembered, too. His sister’s name had been Rebecca, but they’d called her Becca for short. His parents had been best friends with Steve’s ma — they’d known each other since the two of them had been in primary school. They’d met there when Steve was seven and Bucky was eight: Bucky rescued Steve from a fight he’d started on the playground, and they’d been friends ever since. It was ridiculous, in hindsight, but Steve also hadn’t changed much since then. 

He remembered the building they’d lived in — the thin walls with the flimsy yellow paint, the ivy growing over the windows in the summer, the too-small kitchen full of Steve’s art supplies, and dirty dishes, and the gleaming set of kitchen knives Steve had bought for him one Christmas. 

He’d used to cook. He made chicken soup when Steve was sick, which he’d told him about before. After their falling-out, he'd all but forgotten.

He should try to make it again, he decided as he closed the door of his own room behind him and locked it. He should make a pot — if he could remember the recipe — for Steve, sometime. He’d said he missed it. 

Once he was alone, though, in his too-large, too-empty room, sitting in the cold, dark kitchenette and looking out the window, his thoughts were far less pleasant. 

Even after talking to Steve for so long and learning  _ so many things  _ about their past, and more than once, he still didn’t know how he’d ended up at the Tower. The cold, empty hallways on his floor and the surveillance tapes and the way everyone always seemed to know where he was and what he was doing and how no one was friendly to him were nothing —  _ nothing  _ — compared to his old apartment. It hadn’t been especially comfortable, but it was bright and mostly warm and he’d had  _ friends,  _ back then. He’d lived with Steve most of the time and his family had only been blocks away. 

He couldn’t understand what happened to disrupt that. Tony had explained a little about “World War II,” and “Captain America,” and plenty of people had told him about HYDRA, but he didn’t know what any of those things meant, really, or how the story fit together. 

That wasn’t something he could ask Steve, either, because he remembered well enough how he’d reacted to the knife in the training room. They were on good terms now — almost friends. He couldn’t ruin it. But, unfortunately, that didn’t leave very many people for him to talk to. 

He didn’t trust Sam or Tony, after the meeting. He liked Natasha, but after what she’d told him, he wanted to keep his distance. She made him nervous — what else did she know about him that she wasn’t telling? He didn’t trust Dr. Stefurak, either, or the other doctors.  _ Especially  _ Bruce. 

That didn’t leave him anyone else to talk to. Tony seemed to be the most knowledgeable about HYDRA, and he was nice when he wasn’t interrogating anyone in his basement. That wouldn’t make it any more pleasant to track him down and ask him questions, but now he  _ needed  _ answers. He also needed to tell someone what Natasha had said. At least Tony was someone who could do something about it — he could talk to the doctors or  _ someone  _ and they’d find his tracker. The whole thing would be over just as soon as it had started. 

“Jarvis?” He called softly. 

_ Yes? _

“Can you… can you take me to Tony? I need to talk to him.”

_ Of course. He is busy at the moment, but I am sure he can be convinced to speak with you. Is this something very important to you? HYDRA, perhaps? _

“Yeah,” he said, unnerved by just how quickly he’d figured it out. “I need to talk to him about HYDRA, will you… will you please just show me where he is?”

_ Very well. I will notify him before you arrive.  _

“Thanks.” He hadn’t even taken off his jacket or his shoes yet. He stood and walked to the door, his heart pounding in his chest. 

_ He is on the thirtieth floor. In his private quarters.  _

Bucky took the elevator up — it was much too far for the stairs. Tony’s floor was a small one. The elevator opened out into a hallway that was lit only by small windows on one wall. The carpet muffled his footsteps as he walked towards  _ Room 3001,  _ as Jarvis instructed. It seemed oddly familiar to him as if he’d been there before, but then again, maybe he had. It also looked a hell of a lot like his own hallway, many floors below. 

_ He’s awake and ready to see you.  _

“He was  _ asleep?  _ Shit, Jarvis, why didn’t you tell me?” He wouldn’t have come. 

_ Never mind that. He’s awake now.  _

“Fine. Thanks, Jarvis.” He knocked, hoping Tony wouldn’t mind too much. 

The door opened immediately, and Bucky took a step back in surprise. 

Tony’s face was pale, his cheeks blotched red. There were dark circles under his eyes that could have been weeks old, from what Bucky could see beneath the tangled curtain of hair. His shirt was stained with something that might have been coffee or motor oil but was hard to identify in the low light.

“Jarvis told me you were here to talk about HYDRA,” he said. 

Bucky nodded mutely. 

“Come in.” Tony stepped back and opened the door wider. The room was ice cold — Bucky half wondered if he might have a drafty window, but that would have been  _ unbearable  _ at this time of year. He’d have had it fixed. “You can have a seat. I’m sorry the place is such a mess.” 

He sounded so sincere, but the unfortunate truth was that Bucky’s own room looked just the same. He pushed aside a small mound of blankets on a chair and sat down. Tony sat on the couch. It looked as if that was where he’d been sleeping lately. 

“Nat told me about her theory,” Tony said when they were both seated and Bucky was relatively comfortable. “About you. I was worried about it. I’ve been doing some… research.”

“You… you have?” He asked. 

Tony nodded. “Just last night. And today, too. I… I’ve been talking to Bruce. And Natasha. Running some tests.”

He remembered what Steve had told him earlier that day. “Tests?” 

“Nothing… nothing too serious yet. Just scans. We want to use her as a control when we’re looking for abnormalities on you. She seems normal so far — for  _ Natasha,  _ anyway. Nothing that could help us, no… clues. Nothing from HYDRA left on her.” 

“Would there have been anything, anyway?” Bucky asked. “I mean… it sounds like it was a long time ago, do you think whatever they put on her would even  _ last?”  _

He thought he knew what Tony was talking about. If they had trackers on  _ him,  _ they would have them on Natasha, too. It just made sense, but if it was as long ago as she’d made it sound, how would they find them? What if they’d eroded away, or been removed, or gotten lost? She might not be any help at all. 

“She thinks they will,” he said. “She remembers the kind of technology they used, even back then. It would last long enough for us to find if there was one. But… if we can just have a look at you, too, we’ll know what to look for. Where to look — Bruce and I already had a good idea of how they might hide it.”

Tony’s eyes were fixed on his arm. Bucky tried to look anywhere but at him. 

“You… you want to test _me?_ ” He asked. He _already_ regretted coming to see Tony, and it hadn’t even been five minutes yet. He hadn’t even had a chance to ask his questions yet. He couldn't handle a simple _doctor's appointment,_ never mind what Tony might want to do to him. 

“Yeah. It’s okay, it’s not gonna hurt. Just some scans,” he assured him as if he knew what Steve had told him. 

Maybe he  _ did  _ know, if not about that, then about how he always freaked out after his doctor’s appointments. He hated the idea of someone finding out. Steve already knew, of course, and so did Jarvis, but had they  _ told  _ anyone?`

“Oh… okay. I guess,” he said softly. “But can I ask you something else?” He needed to change the subject before he really  _ did  _ freak out. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” Tony said in a bored sort of voice. 

Bucky got the sense that he didn’t  _ want  _ to talk about anything else, but that was just too bad. “I wanted to ask you about HYDRA,” he said hastily before he lost his nerve. “I mean… I know a little, about the war and whatever happened to Steve, or…  _ Captain America,  _ I guess.” The name was still strange and foreign on his tongue. “But I had a life before that, and I don’t know what changed that brought me  _ here.” _

“Jesus.” Tony sighed. “I guess if you wanna talk about that, we can, but it’s not gonna be fun, okay?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded. “ _ Tell me,  _ It’s driving me crazy, and anyway,  _ Steve’s  _ been telling me things,” he added. Maybe that was unfair because he hadn’t been telling him about the  _ war,  _ but he did need to persuade him somehow. 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course he has. So what do you wanna know?” 

“Well… Jarvis told me about those… those notebooks you guys found. That Steve read. About me.”

“Yeah, but you can’t read them, okay? They’re brutal. And also classified.” 

“Aw, come on,” Bucky protested, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Like it matters? I mean, classified, sure, but I’m not gonna tell anyone.” He didn’t care how  _ brutal  _ they were, either. He wanted to know what it was that had ripped him away from the normal, peaceful life he’d had, and why he didn’t remember, too. Of  _ course,  _ it would be brutal. 

“Yeah. Well, Steve said that too and then he went and ranted to Jarvis and also half the team, so why should I believe you?” Tony asked. 

“I —  _ really,  _ I don’t have anyone to tell!” Steve already knew, and from the looks of it, so did Tony. “There’s nobody left, from the sound of it, and besides, they’re about  _ me.”  _ His voice rose a little in desperation. 

Tony sighed. “Okay, fine. Don’t get hysterical or anything. You can read them. Just… don’t tell anybody.” 

Well, that had been easy. Tony was a little  _ too  _ nice — it felt almost like a trap. 

“Thanks.” He smiled slightly. 

“I keep them locked up, but Jarvis can tell you where they are. Since you’re  _ so good  _ at getting into restricted areas,” Tony said pointedly.

__ “Okay, thanks. I’ll ask him.” How rude. 

“This is a restricted area too, by the way,” Tony added. “I don’t know why Jarvis let you up here.” 

_ He needed help,  _ Jarvis supplied. 

Bucky turned pink. He  _ had  _ needed help, to be fair, but why did Jarvis have to be so blunt? He made him sound helpless. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Tony said. “I don’t mind. And… call me if you have questions. Or Steve — if anything, he knows more than I do.”

“Yeah. I… I will.” He stood up and headed for the door. “Thank you, really.” Tony stood up too and went to open the door for him. 

Bucky didn’t know what was in store for him in those notebooks, and even as excited as he was to find out what had happened to him, he  _ dreaded  _ it. What could possibly possess Tony to decide that the only record they  _ had  _ of most of his life had to be locked away? What was so terrible about it that it had to be kept secret? 

As such, he went straight back to his room, without bothering to stop and ask Jarvis where the books were. That was a problem for another day. He hadn’t accomplished much, not really, but he  _ did  _ know where to find Tony if he needed to.

* * *

There was a cardboard box waiting outside his door when he returned. He double-checked to make sure it was really his room, but it was the only occupied room on his hallway, anyway. He picked the box up and carried it inside, surprised by how  _ heavy _ it was. 

He set it down on the kitchen table, rubbing his left shoulder as he went to find something to open the box with. He returned with a kitchen knife and carefully —  _ carefully —  _ sliced open the sloppy packing tape. His first thought was that it was the notebooks, but it was far too heavy. 

When he got it open, he found that it  _ was,  _ in fact, a set of books, but they were all brand-new and clean and  _ far  _ too numerous to be the infamous notebooks. There was a piece of paper on top. He picked it up and unfolded it — it was a note:

_ I’m sorry we never made it to the bookstore. I ordered you these instead. Must be pretty boring lately. The Tower’s awfully bland sometimes. But maybe they’ll help? Besides, I kind of owe you. _

His heart melted. It wasn’t signed, but Bucky knew instantly who the package was from. Steve. The ending to the note was strange, but he was so  _ sweet —  _ he didn’t know why he’d decided to do this or how he could be so thoughtful, but he wouldn’t find the answers to those questions anyway. 

One of the books was stacked on top of the others. He picked it up —  _ Farewell to Arms.  _

He laughed to himself, picking it up and carrying it over to the bedside table. He’d read it later that night. “Jeez, Stevie,” he murmured. 

He had a bookshelf in his bedroom, which had been sad and empty until now, decorated only with a vase of fake flowers. He carried the box over to it, grimacing slightly at the strain on his shoulder, and began putting the books away. 

They didn’t all fit — this was  _ hundreds  _ of dollars worth of books, at least by his estimate. Steve was insane. He’d have to repay him somehow, he decided as he arranged the last few books on the kitchen table, where they’d be easy to see. He’d move them before he ate, of course. They weren’t going to get dirty. 

He had  _ no idea  _ what he could do to make this up to Steve — he’d given him so many books, and it must have been unbelievably expensive, and he didn’t understand why he would  _ do  _ such a thing. He had no money of his own, at least that he knew of. The only thing he could think of was to write a thank-you note and to invite him to dinner. He’d figure out how to make chicken soup. 


	25. Is He Gay or Homophobic?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this chapter is long. It took me a long time to write (I know, I should get my shit together and post it like, last week.) But it's here now! And next week is short story week (probably) so that one's more likely to be on time. 
> 
> TW: internalized homophobia throughout the second half of the chapter

Bucky spent days avoiding so much as  _ thinking  _ about the notebooks. The books Steve sent him helped, and so did the journal. He’d read  _ Farewell to Arms  _ cover to cover on the first day, and he’d been working his way through the rest of them — in between reading cookbooks and searching through pages of online recipes for chicken soup. He still owed Steve, and he was determined to make it up to him. That was the best way he knew how. 

He’d been able to cook once, and the things he’d read brought some memories back, but they weren’t the  _ right  _ memories. He would get there, though. Someday soon, he’d remember that recipe. 

There had been something tucked into the back cover of _Farewell to Arms_ , too. It was hidden, just a little folded piece of paper, and he’d have missed it altogether — maybe even thrown it away — if he hadn’t been hoping for another note. 

It wasn’t a note, which was what he’d thought when he caught the first glimpse of Steve’s handwriting. Instead, it was a recipe — pancakes. He remembered, suddenly, how the book had come up in conversation in the first place. He’d laughed to himself — what perfect timing, and wasn’t Steve sweet for giving him something of his — and got up to make breakfast. It had been past noon by then, but he didn’t care. He and Steve used to make those for dinner, sometimes. This wasn’t any different. 

The books brought back more memories than he was prepared for — so did the pancake recipe. He recalled in perfect detail what became of the first copy of  _ Farewell to Arms _ , how Steve had been sick and how they’d accidentally left it out in the snow. He remembered going out to look for it, finding it, and being angry with him for only a split second before he went back inside and found him asleep on the couch. He’d looked like an angel, and it had been an accident anyway. 

Between the new memories, the books, and his talk with Tony, Bucky had been in an awfully strange mood over the last few days. He remained in his room as much as he could, eating very little and passing most of the time by reading. Mostly, he managed to avoid thinking about the notebooks altogether, but occasionally they crept into his thoughts anyway. Once he’d started thinking about them, it was hard to stop. 

He’d had strange dreams, too, ever since the meeting in the basement. The one that disturbed him the most was a vivid,  _ detailed  _ encounter with a boy who’d introduced himself as Peter. He’d written it off the next morning as paranoia, but ever since then, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of being watched, even when he was safely in his room.

* * *

  
  


Bucky would probably have stayed a hermit for the rest of his life in his attempts to avoid the security cameras and the boy named Peter, if not for Steve’s dinner invitation. 

Jarvis dropped in early one morning to remind him about it. 

_ Mr. Barnes, sir?  _

“What?” He’d been asleep, but by now, the sound of Jarvis’s voice might as well have been an alarm clock. It elicited the same response, anyway. 

_ Your dinner engagement is tonight at eight-thirty. Captain Rogers told me to remind you. _

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to go anymore. “Okay. Thanks. Can I call him…?” It would be rude to back out at the last second. And he needed to figure out what he was going to wear. And what time he was going. And he’d never thanked him properly for the books. 

_ Of course. He knows more about what to wear than I do.  _

Shit. The thought of what Bucky was going to  _ wear  _ had never really occurred to him. He’d need to look good, and, of course, he had plenty of clothes, but what would he  _ wear? _

He couldn’t show up to a dinner party in sweatpants. He didn’t even know how to tie a tie. 

It was after ten. He picked up his phone to call Steve. 

He answered immediately. “Hey, Buck.”

_ Buck.  _ Bucky smiled to himself. “Hey. Jarvis just reminded me about dinner tonight. Said I could ask you about what to wear and all that.” He laughed sheepishly. 

“Oh. Of course.” He got the sense that Steve was smiling, too. “I can come and pick you up at eight, show you where to go. And… a dress shirt and pants are okay but don’t worry about getting all dressed up. It’s not that big of a deal, y’know?”

So… no tie, then. “Okay. Sounds good. Thank you, Steve. And… by the way, thanks for the books, too.”

“Oh, you found them?” Steve asked.

“They were hard to miss, Stevie. There were so many… I’ve only made it through a quarter of them but  _ Farewell to Arms  _ was so damn  _ good.  _ So was  _ Frankenstein.”  _

“I thought you’d like it. Always talked about how you wanted to read it so bad, could never find you a copy anywhere.” Steve sighed. “I’m glad you liked them.” 

“Yeah. It’s… it’s really sweet of you to pick all those out for me. And I found your recipe, too, y’know.” 

“Oh, which one?”

_ Which one?  _ Were there more? “Just the pancakes. I made them for lunch the other day — they’re not as good as you make them, but… still.” Just  _ talking  _ about them made him want another batch. He’d frozen some of the leftovers. Maybe he’d heat some of them up to eat for breakfast this morning. 

Steve laughed. “They’re damn good for lunch, aren’t they? Maybe you can come over sometime and we can make them again. It was fun, last time, y’know.” 

Bucky hadn’t done any work at all last time, but he couldn’t help but agree. “Yeah, that’d be great, Steve. Maybe sometime soon?”

“Yeah, ‘course. But I gotta get going now. Gotta go into a meeting,” Steve said. 

Bucky’s heart sank. He’d thought he would be able to talk for at least a little longer. “Oh. Okay. Thanks for everything, Steve. See you tonight?”

“Yeah, see you tonight.” 

And just like that, Steve was gone. Bucky turned off his phone and went to find himself an outfit. 

He didn’t get dressed just yet — he had  _ hours  _ to go, and he needed to keep the clothes clean — but he found himself a dress shirt and a pair of slacks. It had been a while since he’d put on clothes like that. The shirt was made of a soft, light blue material that was completely foreign to him, and he only decided not to try it on early because he was afraid of spilling something on it. 

To kill time, he heated up some of the pancakes from the freezer and had brunch. He read one of Steve’s books, too — a newer one, this time. It was about dinosaurs. He loved it, and he was halfway through by seven-thirty. 

_ Mr. Barnes? _

Bucky jumped, hastily marking his page and setting the book on the nightstand. It was late — how did it get so late? “Yeah. I know, time to get ready.” 

_ I was just checking. Captain Rogers will be up in a bit.  _

“Thanks, Jarvis.”

Reluctantly, he got up from the bed and got dressed. His left arm was clumsy, and it took him longer than he should have to button his shirt, but he managed, and he even had fifteen minutes to spare at the end of it all. 

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, surveying his reflection, which still looked like the same tired, disheveled man he was used to. Even nice clothes couldn’t change that. He had fifteen more minutes to get ready, though, so he at least had time to put his hair up. That might help. 

He brushed his hair and pulled it back into a bun. It wasn’t neat by any means, but it was better than the tangled mass it had been before, and he certainly looked presentable enough for a dinner party. 

With five minutes left to spare, he started searching for shoes and a jacket. Just as he was putting them on, someone knocked at the door. 

He rushed to open it, nearly tripping over himself as he did. 

Steve stood there in the doorway, looking as composed and ready for a dinner party as ever. He was wearing a suit — suddenly, Bucky felt underdressed. “Hey, Buck,” he said. 

Butterflies fluttered in Bucky’s stomach. He swallowed hard. “Hey,” he managed. 

“You ready to go? I know I’m a few minutes early…” 

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’m ready.” Bucky stepped out into the hallway, closing the door firmly behind him. 

“Let’s go, then.” Steve smiled at him — it was a quick little flash of a smile, but lovely all the same — and turned to head for the elevator. 

Bucky walked with him. “So what’s for dinner?” He asked. He’d been hungry again shortly after lunch — pancakes weren’t the most filling food. 

“No telling,” Steve said with a little shrug. “Bruce cooks, most of the time. Thanksgiving’s coming up, and he’s going to go all out for that. But last time he made a pot roast. He’s an  _ amazing  _ cook, you’ll love whatever he made.” 

“Really?” Bucky asked, incredulous. Bruce still made him think of bone marrow, but he’d give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Yeah. You’ll see.” 

They’d reached the elevator, which opened for them immediately. Bucky  _ still  _ hated elevators, but at least this one had a sense of chivalry. They stepped inside, and the doors closed after them. 

“We’ll see.” He was starving, anyway — he’d eat just about anything, but a home-cooked meal sounded damn good, even if it was made by  _ Bruce,  _ of all people. 

They only went up a couple of floors — this time, Bucky knew where they were going. Steve and Sam had shown him the dining room on his “tour.” He still remembered where it was, and, in fact, he even had vague memories of sleepwalking there. 

He hoped it looked more cheerful when it was all lit up and full of dinner guests. 

They arrived on their floor in no time. Voices and music floated down the hall towards them through a set of open double doors. 

Steve walked down the hall, Bucky trailing anxiously behind him. There were too many voices — they blended together into a rush of noise that might have deafened him if he’d been closer. Steve kept walking, unfazed by the noise or the lights or the crowd of people ahead of him, but he  _ knew  _ those people. There was no reason for him to be afraid of them. 

Bucky, on the other hand…

Steve stopped and looked back at him, just short of the door. “You okay, Buck? We don’t have to go in. “No,” he said, too hastily. “I mean — I’m okay, Steve. Thanks, really. I’m just… a little nervous.” 

He shouldn’t have said that. Steve was going to laugh at him or tell him there was nothing to be nervous about or any  _ number _ of things. He might even take him back to his room. 

“Oh.” Steve nodded. “Hey, me too, Buck.”

“You… you are?”

“Yeah.” He laughed sheepishly. “That’s why I invited you to come along. I hate these things. Tony invites  _ reporters _ , sometimes — but I made sure he wouldn’t do it this time,” he added hastily when he saw the look on Bucky’s face. 

“God, that sounds horrible,” Bucky said with a little shiver. “Are you sure…?” 

“Yeah. I’m sure. And besides, it’s not all bad. Bruce is a really good cook, and Nat and Sam are coming — and you’ll love Thor and Clint, and Peter, and Tony’s not  _ that  _ bad.” 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to even be in the same room as Tony and Steve, after the talk he’d had with Tony. “ _ Thor?”  _ Who in their right mind would name their child  _ ‘Thor?’  _

“He’s a really nice guy, you’ll get to meet him tonight.” 

“Oh. Uh… cool?” 

“Yeah. You wanna go in?”

“I’m — I’m ready.” Bucky found that he was. The noise from the dining room still made him want to turn and run, but at least Steve felt the same way. He was even nice about it, and… hell, if it got to be too much, maybe he’d help him get away. And Natasha would be there — he hadn’t seen her in ages. Were they even still friends? 

Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it, though, because Steve was already leading him into the dining room. 

It was much quieter inside. The room was exactly like he remembered — cavernous, lit by a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the row of floor-to-ceiling windows displaying a glimmering skyline. The table was set with gleaming dishes and silverware. 

Several people were already seated — Natasha and Bruce were among them — but others stood around the room, most of them next to the fireplace. It couldn’t have been a  _ real  _ fireplace, not in a skyscraper like this one, but with Tony, who knew. 

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s arm and guided him towards the fireplace, where a large group of people was standing: Tony, Sam, a boy of about fifteen who looked vaguely familiar, and another man he didn’t recognize. 

Steve cleared his throat and they turned to look at him. The boy stared, his eyes wide. That was Peter, from his dream. Bucky looked away hastily, trying to focus on something else, anything else because Peter was deeply unnerving. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Steve was saying. 

“It’s okay,” Tony said with a little shrug. “Don’t worry. None of us have been waiting long.”

He looked remarkably casual, after the talk he’d had with Bucky. Didn’t he  _ care  _ about what he’d done? Didn’t he know how angry Steve would be if he knew? That didn’t help Bucky’s nerves. 

He looked away, letting himself get distracted by the fire. It was  _ warm.  _ How could it be warm? Was it  _ real?  _ But it was inside this enormous building, how could there be a chimney? The image of a tiny little chimney sticking out of the top of Stark Tower almost made him laugh. 

He’d stopped listening to Steve and Tony — the fire was hypnotizing, and more than that, it was  _ warm.  _ He took a few steps closer, wishing he had one in his room. Then again, there was one in the lounge, which was… good enough. 

Before he knew it, Steve was nudging his arm, trying to get his attention, and he became aware of how much he’d zoned out.  _ Shit.  _ “Sorry, what was that?” He asked, his face going pink. 

Steve looked slightly flustered, too. “I just — sorry.” He shook his head. “Bucky, have you met Clint?” 

“No, I — I haven’t.” He looked up at the man who was standing beside Steve, looking just as flustered as either of them. He was  _ handsome —  _ even dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans — but that hardly mattered when Steve was standing right beside him. 

Bucky glanced back at the fire, trying not to let himself have those kinds of thoughts. He wasn’t a pervert — he hadn’t even met this man yet! 

“Well, anyway,” Steve said, catching Bucky’s attention again. “Bucky, this is Clint, and Clint, this is Bucky.”

“Hey,” Clint said, with a shy little wave. “I’m not around the Tower much.” He shrugged. “It’s real nice to finally meet you, though.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you too,” Bucky said, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He put that down to regular old nerves. Nothing to worry about. But he couldn’t be  _ too  _ nervous about this guy. Something about him put him at ease — he hadn’t been at the meeting with Tony and Steve and the others, for one thing, and for another, he was relaxed. 

“This your first time coming to something like this?” Clint asked. 

Bucky jumped. “Yeah. I don’t know half these people,” he admitted with a shy little laugh. 

“Well, Steve’s a good person to show you around,” he said. “But I know. Tony’s dinner parties and things can be a little overwhelming sometimes.” 

Weren’t they ever. Bucky nodded. “Yeah. But I hear the food’s good, at least?” He hoped Steve hadn’t just said that to get him to come along. 

“ _ God,  _ yes. It’s amazing. And I’m starving.” 

Clint certainly had the look of someone who’d come to a dinner party just for the food, now that Bucky thought about it. 

“Wanna go and sit down?” Clint was addressing Bucky  _ and  _ Steve, this time. “I think everybody’s about ready to eat.” 

And sure enough, Tony and Sam and Peter were already seated — so was just about everyone else. Bruce had disappeared. 

“Yeah,” Steve said distractedly, and the little group went to find their seats. 

Clint sat on one side of Natasha, and Steve gestured for Bucky to sit on her other side. He did, and Steve sat next to him. He recognized most of the people at the table — he knew Sam and Natasha, and now he’d met Clint. Tony and Peter sat nearby, too. Peter was still wide-eyed and nervous-looking, and Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that it was because of him — but that was ridiculous. A pretty blonde woman sat next to Tony, too. He wondered who  _ she  _ was — Sam mentioned once that Tony had a girlfriend, but he’d never said her name _.  _ Maybe this was her. 

Two empty seats remained at the table, but no one was left in the room. The mystery of who they belonged to was solved only a moment later when a door Bucky hadn’t noticed opened up and Bruce came through. 

He was carrying a platter, and he was followed by a tall, muscular, blond man, laden down with trays, which were in turn loaded with bowls and platters and plates. 

Beside him, Steve’s stomach growled audibly, and Bucky held back laughter. 

Bruce and his blond companion set everything out on the table before finding their seats. 

“That’s Thor,” Steve whispered to Bucky while everyone was busy helping themselves to the food. “Bruce’s friend.” 

That had been about how he pictured Thor. He was talking to Bruce at the moment — an odd word or two drifted towards him, now and then, but he couldn’t understand any of it. It sounded awfully complicated — he thought it might have had something to do with space travel. 

He couldn’t focus on that for too long, though, because there was a platter of roast chicken in front of him. There were sweet potatoes, too, and dinner rolls, and green beans and roasted vegetables, and if this was just a regular dinner party, he was going to  _ pray  _ that he was invited to Thanksgiving dinner. 

No one was talking much, instead, they all focused on the food. It tasted just as heavenly as it looked, too. The chicken was perfectly tender and it was seasoned with something Bucky couldn’t even  _ name  _ — the dinner rolls were soft and fluffy and the butter was speckled with something that turned out to be cinnamon and sugar. 

There was dessert, too — an enormous chocolate layer cake that disappeared almost immediately after Bruce set it out. 

By that time, though, the conversation started up again around the table. It was positively  _ lively,  _ despite the fact that Bucky himself was ready to slip into a food coma. Steve was clearly used to this — he was talking to Sam without a care in the world as he finished his slice of cake. 

Thor and Bruce, on the other side of the table, had talked through most of the meal. They seemed able to understand each other, but Bucky couldn’t make heads or tails of half the words they said. They looked happy, though. It could have been a trick of the light or just the awkward way Bruce was sitting, but it almost looked like they were holding hands. 

_ Yeah, right.  _ Bucky had to remind himself again not to be a pervert. And  _ anyway,  _ if anybody was gay around here, it sure wasn’t  _ Thor.  _

Gay or not, they sure did look happy together. Bucky tried not to stare, instead focusing his attention on the rest of his slice of cake. 

He was aware, too, of Peter occasionally glancing at him from where he sat beside Tony. The kid talked almost nonstop, now that dinner was over — but Tony didn’t seem to mind. Even despite the distraction, Tony provided, though, Peter kept glancing over at Bucky. He found it positively unnerving, especially now that he was recalling more of the dream he’d had. 

The kid was  _ watching him.  _ So was Tony, probably — but maybe that was why he’d brought Peter along in the first place so that he could relax and let someone else worry about Bucky for the night. Did Peter even know that was who he was supposed to be watching yet? 

He tried to ignore him. 

Sam and Steve were no longer talking. Steve’s plate was empty — he yawned loudly, and his face went pink when he saw Bucky looking at him. “Sorry,” he said. 

Bucky laughed. “‘S okay. ‘M tired too, after all that.” 

“Yeah. You get used to it after a while. Serum helps.” 

“It… it does?” Bucky asked, surprised. As far as  _ he  _ knew, all it did was build up muscles and decrease healing time. And it had made Steve taller.

“Yeah.” He smiled softly. “Takes some practice to get used to it, but it’s nice once you do.”

Wherever they’d been before, Bucky got the idea that they hadn’t let him do things like that. Otherwise, he’d have already known. “That sounds pretty amazing, Stevie,” he said with a little laugh. 

“Isn’t it? God, I’m still hungry.” 

Bucky watched with amazement as he helped himself to another slice of cake. 

“What, you want some?” He asked. 

“No — that’s okay, thanks.” He went pink. “Sorry. I’m… pretty full.” 

He didn’t know why the idea of sharing a piece of cake with Steve made him so flustered, all of a sudden. It was the sort of thing they’d used to do all the time if he was remembering right. It was  _ normal.  _ It was just  _ food  _ — nothing at all to get flustered about. He’d have accepted if he wasn’t so full. 

“You sure? Should enjoy it while there’s still some left,” Steve said in between bites. 

“Wish I could. Might have to take some home with me,” Bucky said. That was if there was any left by then. 

“Y’know, that’s a damn good idea. Can have cake for breakfast tomorrow.” 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. 

“Aw, come on. That’s exactly what you would do,” Steve said, and he was right. “I’m gonna have to leave soon. There’s a march happening that I said I would go to tomorrow morning. ‘S kinda early.”

“A march?” Bucky asked, confused. 

“Yeah, you know, a protest?” 

“Oh. What’s it for?”

Steve sighed softly. The look on his face was something between anxious and defeated — his brow furrowed and his shoulders tensed, too, ever so slightly. “Gay rights.” 

“Oh.”  _ Fuck _ . Bucky went quiet. 

Steve hadn’t said what  _ side  _ he was on, but Bucky thought he knew. People didn’t just get together to protest for  _ gay rights  _ without Captain America stepping in to stop them — of course they didn’t, because this was  _ America.  _

Bucky was quiet for the rest of the meal, staring down at his empty plate and trying not to meet Peter’s eyes again. Steve didn’t try to talk to him again, either, and Bucky knew why. He’d given him the wrong idea — completely the wrong idea. He wasn’t  _ gay.  _ He didn’t even know someone who was — why had he reacted that way, then? 

It was all so stupid. He was an idiot, for acting this way. Everything was fine — Steve was his  _ friend.  _ He had nothing to be afraid of. 

But not five minutes after the end of their conversation, Steve announced to the room at large that he was going to bed early. He was met with a chorus of good nights, and before Bucky could even get a word in, he was gone.

Bucky was alone. 


	26. HYDRA? Who's she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me a month to finish this chapter, guys. I have the week off school, though, so there's no reason why the next one won't be on time. 
> 
> Bucky deals with returning memories/PTSD/anxiety/internalized homophobia throughout this chapter.

The morning after the dinner party, Bucky awoke with something like a hangover, despite not having had any alcohol. The light flooding in through the windows stung his eyes and he rolled over, burying his face in his pillow and trying to go back to sleep. 

The night before had been miserable. He deeply regretted going to the dinner party, and he regretted staying up so late, too — he couldn’t even remember what he’d stayed up to do, or if he’d really stayed up at all, but it felt as though he hadn’t slept all night. 

He hoped Steve had at least had fun at his  _ march,  _ or his protest or his rally or whatever it was. He knew that he shouldn’t be bitter about it because it was none of his business, but it was so difficult to imagine Steve going out of his way to break up something so… harmless.

Of course, he’d never said that was exactly what he would be doing, but it was easy for Bucky to read between the lines. 

He wasn’t hungry, so he didn’t make himself anything for breakfast. He didn’t get dressed, or take a shower. His hair remained a tangled mass falling around his shoulders because it would have been too much effort to find the hairbrush and brush it out. 

His thoughts kept returning to Steve, as he lay there in the bed. He’d had certain thoughts about Steve before — what would he do if he knew? 

He needed a distraction. Steve was going to drive him crazy if he didn’t stop thinking about him. They were  _ friends,  _ but Steve would hate him if he knew… and who wouldn’t? 

He got up from the bed, throwing the covers off and running his fingers through his hair to push it away from his face. “Jarvis?”

_ Yes?  _

“Can you show me where the notebooks are? The ones I talked about with Tony the other day.” 

_ Of course. But are you sure you want to read them? They’re very… harsh. And they’re about you. It’ll be taxing.  _

“I know, Jarvis. I just want to read them.” 

The notebooks probably weren’t the kind of distraction that he needed, but they were what he wanted. He’d been meaning to read them anyway, and the spite he was feeling towards Steve at the moment was the perfect incentive to get started. 

_ Very well. Get dressed and I’ll show you where Tony keeps them.  _

“I don’t need to get dressed, Jarvis. I’m fine.” 

_ You look like you just rolled out of bed. Have a little decency.  _

“It’s not like I’m going to run into anyone!” He could count on one hand the number of times he’d bumped into someone unexpectedly. 

_ You’re not going anywhere until you get dressed.  _

Bucky sighed loudly. Jarvis clearly wasn’t going to budge. “Fine.” He’d won this time. Besides, a change of clothes wouldn’t hurt him. 

He went to the closet and found a new t-shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. When he took off his shirt, he was briefly enveloped in a cloud of dust that left him choking. Where the hell had that come from? He tossed the shirt into the laundry basket, deciding not to worry about it. Stranger things had happened to him. 

_ That’s better,  _ Jarvis said.  _ Brush your hair, too?  _

“I’ll pass,” Bucky decided, putting his shoes on. 

_ Fine. At least you’re wearing shoes. Ready to go? _

“Yep.” He stood up and stretched luxuriously, yawning loudly as he started to head for the door. “Just tell me where to go.”

_ If you’re sure.  _

_ “Yes.”  _

Jarvis wasn’t particularly determined to stop him from reading the notebooks. All it took was one word from Bucky and they were off. 

He led him on what felt to Bucky like a wild goose chase through the tower. He climbed stairs, he took the elevator up and back down, he wandered through a maze of hallways at Jarvis’s instruction, until he was so disoriented that he hardly remembered where he’d started. 

He found himself in a long, spacious room filled with metal shelves. It was on one of the lower floors, he guessed, but the little numbers in the elevator that showed which floor he was on had conveniently disappeared the last time he’d been inside. Jarvis directed him down rows and through aisles, the air getting more stale the further he went. 

_ Here we are,  _ he said at last.  _ In that box there. Number sixty-four.  _

Number  _ sixty-four,  _ a ridiculously small number for something buried so deep in the shelves, was a  _ tiny  _ cardboard box that Bucky would have doubted could even hold  _ one  _ book. He picked it up. 

_ Not that one. Next to it.  _

Blushing, Bucky put it back and reached for the correct one. He could see the labels on them now — the one he’d reached for had been  _ four thousand ninety-six.  _ He didn’t understand their organizational system in the least, but he  _ did  _ know that he’d be lucky not to be called down to another meeting in the basement with Tony for that little slip-up. 

“Sorry, Jarvis.”

_ It’s quite all right. I won’t tell anyone since you never saw what was inside. You may go back upstairs now. Would you like directions? _

“Yes, please,” he said meekly. He wouldn’t have been able to find his way out of this place if he tried, never  _ mind  _ making it back up to his room. 

He was anxious to get back upstairs. This room, in particular, unnerved him, with its high shelves that couldn’t possibly have fit into a room less than the height of three regular-size floors, and the dewy smell, and the boxes whose contents he wasn’t allowed to see. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his being here at all was a trap of Tony’s. 

At least the return trip didn’t take quite as long. Jarvis simply directed him to the nearest elevator and sent him up to his floor, much to Bucky’s relief. The box was heavy, and his feet were tired. 

He dropped the box on his bed and sat down beside it, kicking his shoes off and dropping them haphazardly on the floor. He reached in and picked up the first book. 

_ Are you sure you want to read those?  _ Jarvis asked, right on cue.  _ I can send someone to come and take them back if you like. It might be detrimental to your health to learn those things.  _

“I’m  _ fine,  _ Jarvis. Tony said I could read them,” Bucky said pointedly, already opening the book. 

It was bound in leather. It had a red cover, dark and bloody-looking, and there were tiny puncture marks that suggested something star-shaped had once been sewn to the front of it. He opened it. The pages stuck together — they were warped and yellowed and the ink had run in places. Much of it was handwritten, he observed as he flipped through it. The handwriting was familiar in an unnerving way, and but he couldn’t place where he’d seen it before. It didn’t matter. He was just creeping himself out more. 

He flipped back to the beginning. It began with a note written on a small square of lined paper, taped into the inside cover. 

_ February 20, 1945  _

_ The Soldier has just gone into cryosleep — one of those wonderful new inventions of Zola’s. The Soldier has been with us for well over a year now, and yet he still resists. We did not expect so much difficulty, but perhaps that was naive. We are inexperienced.  _

_ But, to whom it may concern: _

_ Please, learn from our mistakes. You are inexperienced as well. Take advantage of what we have to offer and do not repeat history. Train your Soldiers better than we are doing.  _

_ Best of luck. _

_ Hail HYDRA. _

Bucky read the note twice.  _ The Soldier.  _ That was him, presumably, but the note implied that there might be more than one.  _ Was  _ there more than one — were there more people like him? More, even, that Steve’s  _ rescue mission  _ had left behind? 

_ Hail HYDRA.  _

What was that supposed to mean? He still wasn’t clear on what HYDRA even  _ was,  _ despite the many attempts to explain it to him. He turned the page. 

The next two pages contained a transcript of some kind. It was hard for Bucky to understand out of context, but the two men — Zola, from before, and someone who was labeled only as “nurse” — said his name in almost every other line. 

His hands shook as he turned the page again. There were photographs, this time. Grainy and black and white, but very obviously documenting the metal arm. There were several models — there were drawings, too, complete with little labels written in neat, black ink. Some of it was German. The star was missing from the arm in every single picture. In one of the photos, part of his face was visible. It was blurry, but his jaw was bruised and something that looked like blood was smeared across his cheek. 

He turned the page with one hand, reaching instinctively upwards to rub his jaw with the other.  _ Ouch.  _

The next page was nothing but a collection of charts and graphs that he could never hope to understand. Tony would know what they were — maybe he could ask him, but the labels and notes were written in German. Maybe Jarvis would be more help. He’d come back to it. 

The page after that was a short, simple note —  _ The Soldier made an attempt to escape today  _ — and it was accompanied by three pages of complicated plans that looked like revisions to the security system. It included weapons: long, bayonet-like things that may have been tasers or just regular guns. There were batons, too, and clubs, and sharp little knives, and a device that looked like a stapler.

Bucky hastily flipped to another page, and page after page after that. There were lists of weapons that had been designed to handle someone — some _ thing  _ — as powerful and as dangerous as the Soldier. There were detailed accounts of extra security measures. 

There were transcripts of conversations between doctors and HYDRA officers, and sometimes the Soldier himself was present. He never spoke much, and when he did, his words were short and simple, and often they were pleas for help or for food or for someone to  _ stop  _ or to _ leave him alone _ . After the Soldier said something to that effect, or after he tried to defend himself, the transcripts often became confused, and large sections were marked with “unintelligible,” or they stopped altogether. 

The notebook stopped abruptly after a few hundred pages. It appeared as though the author had simply run out of room. 

Out of morbid curiosity, and because Bucky had skimmed through most of the book and therefore mostly recovered from the first few pages, he decided to read the last entry. 

It was a note, much like that on the first page. It was written on the same kind of paper, in the same handwriting, taped into the book exactly the same way. This time, there was no date. 

_ The Soldier botched his last mission horribly. We have been training him as best we can, but he is so very incompetent. He shrinks away in the face of even the weakest target, even after so many years. I fear we may fail to control him, after all, but there is still more time. Zola already has more ideas about what we might do about him. We have a meeting scheduled in the morning, and I hope it will help correct him. Zola mentioned something he calls “the Chair,” which intrigues me. I have high hopes for it.  _

There was more, but Bucky couldn’t read past “the Chair.” 

He’d gone cold, his fingers trembling as he tried in vain to hold the book steady so that he could read the rest of the page. Just  _ one more page  _ and he’d be done. He’d be done for the day, maybe for good, and either way, he would be able to close the book and put it aside and not think about what “the Chair” was for a good, long while. 

He didn’t make it one line further. 

The Chair had been a distant memory not thirty seconds ago, but now it wouldn’t leave his mind no matter how hard he tried to think of something else, anything else. 

He closed the book and tossed it aside, hardly noticing when it flew across the room and bounced off the opposite wall.

_ The Chair.  _ The first time he’d read the name, a bolt of electricity shot down his spine and made his vision go blurry and his hands go numb. When he thought about it, every time after that, it only got worse. His heart pounded and his vision wouldn’t focus and the sound of the ceiling fan that hung over the bed was suddenly so loud that he couldn’t stand the sound of it, but he couldn’t force himself off the bed to turn it off. 

His chest went tight and he couldn’t  _ breathe,  _ his throat constricted, his airways closed. He was in the chair and there was a twenty-volt electric current running through his body, through the electrical contacts taped to his arms, through  _ the arm  _ itself, through the metal chair. He was dying — the current was too much, too high, and he was really, really going to die this time, just like he had yesterday and last week and every time before that he’d been put in the chair. 

He gasped and sobbed, his body falling limply onto the bed, unaware of the voice calling, loudly:

_ Mr. Barnes? Mr. Barnes, sir? Are you all right? Bucky?  _

He writhed, trying to escape the chair and the current, which was exceeding twenty volts and now approaching thirty. It  _ hurt  _ — it was a hot, sharp pain which he felt nearly every day, it seemed — 

_ Mr. Barnes? Are you there? Do I need to find you a transport to the medbay? _

He heard Jarvis, this time. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry out for help, he wanted to sob and beg and  _ plead  _ for Jarvis to send someone to come and help him get out of the Chair. 

There was no one. There was no Chair. 

He clung to one of the pillows on the bed, hugging it to his chest as if it could provide some sort of meager comfort. It didn’t. 

_ Mr. Barnes? Can you hear me, sir?  _

“Yeah,” he whimpered, in between gasps for air. 

_ Good. I’ll call Steve for you. He’s better for this sort of thing than I am.  _

“No! Don’t,” Bucky said hastily. “Don’t — don’t call him. Please, don’t…” Just the thought of seeing Steve almost sent him into another panic. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Even his chest trembled. It ached, but he was calmer now. 

_ Very well. I will not call Captain Rogers. Who  _ would  _ you like me to call?  _

“Don’t — don’t call anyone,” Bucky said. “I’m… I’m fine.” He sat up a little, in an attempt to look as though he were doing better. “It’s okay. Don’t call anyone.” 

_ Fine. I won’t call anyone. Can I do anything else for you?  _

“No, Jarvis, I’m  _ fine, _ ” Bucky insisted. His voice broke on the word “fine.” 

_ If you’re sure. I will be back to check on you later. And I can send someone to take the notebooks from you if you like. All you’ll need to do is leave them outside your door.  _

“I — I want to keep them,” Bucky whispered. “I’ve only read the first one. I need to finish them.” He’d learned nearly nothing from what he’d already read. He hoped the next few books would be more helpful, or that he’d be more successful at finding some meaning in the first one. Maybe the rest would be less violent, or maybe he would be able to get  _ used  _ to the violence. 

_ That wasn’t an offer, Barnes. I’ll be sending someone tonight at five.  _

Bucky didn’t have the strength to argue. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. “Fine,” he mumbled. He could go back for them later. 


	27. Bucky is Gay (?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been productive this week! ;)   
> It's been nice! I have two chapters already written in addition to this one. All I have to do is edit them!

Bucky didn’t leave his room for days after he’d read the notebook. He didn’t get rid of it, or the rest of them, either — Jarvis got impatient with him about it, but he gave up after the third day of being ignored. He never sent anyone to get them like he’d said he would. Steve called a couple of times, too, but Bucky never answered. He didn’t want to talk to him.

It didn’t matter. At least he still had the option to read the books, when he’d worked up the courage. 

No one came by to see him, not even Steve. Not that he'd expected anyone to.

That was fine, anyway. He’d be all right. There was nothing wrong with him. He hadn’t had any more panic attacks, and he hadn’t had a single nightmare, either. He’d been sleeping plenty, and he’d eaten a couple of meals every day, even if they were small. 

He wasn’t even bored — he’d gotten over his earlier qualms about the books out of boredom, and he spent most of his time reading in bed. 

He’d have been fine carrying on this way, too, for as long as he had to, if someone hadn't finally come to see him. 

Very reluctantly, he found his bookmark, marked his place, and set the book down. He got up from the bed, not caring who might see it unmade, and went to answer the door. 

Natasha stood there. 

“Um… hi?” Bucky tried. “Do you… want the notebooks back?” 

“Nope,” she said, but she was giving Bucky such a concerned and frankly  _ guilty  _ look that he couldn’t help but wonder. “Tony wanted me to drop by. Jarvis told him he was worried about you.” 

“Did he?” Bucky asked, his brow furrowing with suspicion. 

Natasha nodded. “He said you haven’t left your room in  _ days.  _ Since you read them. And I don’t normally go around trying to mess with my friends’ personal lives, but… He’s worried about you. And you’ve been ignoring him, so they sent me instead.”

“Well, here you are,” Bucky said dryly. “And I’m fine. The notebooks were weird, but I’m fine.”

Natasha sighed. “Hey, I know what was in those things, Bucky. And I’d have freaked out, too, if they were about me.” 

“I didn’t freak out,” Bucky said, feeling somewhat like a petulant child. He was a liar, too. “Really, it was  _ fine.  _ They were weird, but it was fine.”

“How far did you get?”

“Just… the end of the first one.” White-hot shame washed over him. He cringed under the look of sympathy she was giving him as if there were something wrong with him, but he was fine. He straightened up a little, trying to look as though he hadn’t been lying in bed all day. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” she said in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “I should’ve known.”

“Don’t apologize,” he growled. “I’m  _ fine.”  _

She winced. “Okay, okay. You’re fine. I’m sorry.” 

That had been an apology, too, but it didn’t rub Bucky the wrong way quite so much. “It’s — it’s okay,” he said warily. Maybe she really wanted to help.

“Do you have a minute to talk?” She asked. 

Bucky couldn’t say no. It wasn’t as though he could pretend he was heading off to an urgent appointment or anything— he wasn’t even dressed. He wished he was. “Yeah. I’ve… got a minute,” he said at last. “Wanna come inside?” 

He shouldn’t have invited her in, he knew already, because the place was a disaster and it would probably just convince her of how not-fine he was. But it was too late. And it was polite. It wasn’t even that messy, anyway. 

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” Natasha smiled, and Bucky decided she probably wouldn’t care if a tornado had just come through.

He opened the door a little wider and stepped aside to let him in, less self-conscious about the mess now. “Do you want a drink…? I’ve got tea.” Tea was  _ all  _ he had. 

“Yeah. Tea sounds… nice,” she agreed. 

Bucky got busy making her a cup. It was something to do, and it put off having to talk for a few minutes. 

Natasha cleared her throat softly. Bucky turned to look at her. 

“Yes?” He asked, somewhat impatiently. It wasn’t like he actually had anything to  _ do _ because all he was doing was waiting for a mug of water to heat up in the microwave, but he’d have liked to pretend that he did. 

“What made you want to read the notebooks in the first place?” She asked. 

Bucky paused, taken aback by the question. “I… well… they’re about me. And I don’t remember what it was like for me, you know… back then. I was curious.”

He shouldn’t have been telling Natasha any of this. He shouldn’t tell  _ anyone,  _ because it would land him in an insane asylum, or they’d just decide they’d had enough and take him back to HYDRA.

“Oh,” she said softly. “That… that makes sense. We had to do a lot of research on you, and… on them. If you wanna find out, sometime, maybe in an easier way…?”

“That’s okay. I’ve still got the notebooks.” Bucky set down the mug of tea on the table and sat across from her. “I’ll let you know, though, okay?” 

If he’d wanted to know any of that from his  _ friends,  _ he’d have asked Steve a long time ago, but that would have been much worse. 

“Yeah. Thanks. I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know. Any time.” Natasha sipped her tea casually. She winced — it was little more than hot water at the moment. 

He tried not to smile. “Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?” It seemed a little ridiculous, in hindsight, to have invited her in for  _ this.  _

She seemed to think so, too. He watched as she groped for something else to say. “Yeah… pretty much. I was just checking up on you.” She glanced very pointedly around the room. 

“I’m  _ fine,”  _ Bucky said again. “Really! You didn’t need to check on me. But… thanks,” he added awkwardly. 

“Yeah, no problem.” She waved him off. “But… I  _ am  _ worried about you, okay? Steve says you’ve been ignoring him, too. I know how close you guys are.” 

“We’re not  _ close.  _ He’s an asshole,” Bucky said shortly. 

“Is this ‘cause of what happened at the dinner party?” She asked softly. “I mean, I know I might be overstepping, but I  _ saw  _ you guys. I saw him leave, and then you looked all sad afterwards. It was weird.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

Telling her that was an awful idea. They hardly knew each other, so she was going to think he was  _ crazy  _ if he gave her any more details. 

“What did he say?” She prompted. 

Bucky sighed and resigned himself to telling her everything. “I… it’s stupid. He said he had to leave early for a… for a  _ gay rights  _ thing.” 

Natasha’s eyes went wide. Bucky’s heart clenched. 

“He  _ left.  _ He went to bed early so he could get up early the next morning and go break up a protest for  _ gay rights,  _ Natasha. I… I dunno why it bothers me so much. I guess I just didn’t like being left alone at dinner. It’s... selfish.” 

“No, it’s not,” she said gently. There was a suspicious kind of look on her face. “Did he say that was why he was going?” 

“Well… no,” Bucky admitted. “He just said he was going, but why else…?”

“Well… don’t you think he might have just wanted to go?” Natasha asked. “We wouldn’t have let someone like that on the team. He wasn’t going to  _ break it up,  _ I promise. That’s illegal.” 

He looked up at her in disbelief. She was right — it  _ was  _ illegal, assuming the protest was peaceful. That hadn’t changed in seventy years. But what would Steve want to do with  _ gay people?  _ It didn’t make any sense. “I… I guess,” he said at last. 

“He’s not going to attack you, Bucky,” she said. 

“Attack me? What does that mean?” Bucky’s voice went high-pitched with alarm. “What do you… what do you mean?  _ Attack me?  _ Why?” It had come out of nowhere — it didn’t make any  _ sense.  _ Why would Steve attack him? 

“Well… you’re… you know — you’re gay, aren’t you?” She said hesitantly. She looked less sure of herself than Bucky had ever seen her. “He’s not gonna attack you for that. If he even  _ knows. _ But he’s a nice guy. You know that better than anybody, don’t you?” 

“Gay?” He repeated. He was still stuck on that question. “What do you mean? I’m not gay. Why would you think that?”

He was more confused than anything, but Natasha was looking more and more sure of herself by the moment. That only confused him more. 

“It’s no big deal,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. I just… assumed.”

“Why?” Bucky demanded. “I’m not  _ gay.  _ What have I done that made you think that?” He was a little scared now — what if Steve really  _ was  _ homophobic? What if Natasha told him about this — what would he do to him? 

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “The way you and Steve behave around one another just sort of gave me the idea. And the way you talk about him. It’s really sweet — I’m glad you’re such good friends.” 

The way she said “friends” was a little odd. It scared him. 

“Yeah,” he said hollowly. “I am, too. He’s a really nice guy when he’s not… you know. Running off like he did at the dinner party.”

“I’m sorry about that,” she said. “I really am. I wish I’d come to talk to you because you looked so… so  _ sad.  _ And I talked to him about it, anyway. He’s not gonna do that again.” 

“You — you did?” He asked, startled. “What did you say?” He didn’t know whether to be grateful or affronted. 

“I told him to stop leaving people alone at dinner parties that he invites them to without at least giving them a warning beforehand,” she said. “I think he took me seriously.”

He smiled weakly. “Thanks, Nat. I’m… I’m sorry about all this… you know. Drama. You’re probably busy.” 

“No,” she said quickly. “Don’t apologize. I’m just trying to help, Bucky. I know you’ve been a little down lately.” She glanced around the room again, and Bucky found himself wishing he’d cleaned up a little more in the past few days. 

“Thanks. I’m  _ fine,  _ though. I promise. I was just worried about Steve.” And the notebooks hadn’t helped, but  _ mostly,  _ it had been Steve. The notebooks felt less real. 

“I know.” She smiled slightly. “But it’s okay. And he wants to talk to you. He said he tried to call you four times in the last two days. I think he misses you. He told me he wants to apologize.” 

“He does?” 

“Yeah. He felt bad about leaving you, you know. And you can call him any time you like. He’s walked out of meetings to answer your calls before, you know.”

“He  _ has?  _ Why? It’s not… it’s not that important.” 

Natasha was grinning at him. “He thinks it is. He really cares about you, Bucky.” 

The way she was smiling, Bucky knew there was something she wasn’t telling him. He didn’t try to ask about it. “I… I guess,” he said, still feeling less than enthusiastic about the whole thing. “And I care about him, too, because he  _ is  _ my friend, but I don’t remember him being such a dick when I knew him  _ before.”  _

He sighed to himself, staring down at the smooth, clean tabletop. Steve had been a sweetheart, back in the forties. Back before HYDRA, and before the  _ war,  _ he’d been nice — he’d been loyal. He’d  _ cared  _ about Bucky, and it had shown. 

He didn’t seem to care anymore. 

“He’s been through a lot this century,” Natasha said stiffly. “He’s… changed, I’ll bet. He makes a fool of himself sometimes. He’s still getting used to things, getting used to what he’s learned about HYDRA, too. And about you. He’s still getting used to having you back, but he’s going to learn how to behave himself.” She looked up at him anxiously. “He  _ wants  _ to talk to you, Bucky. He wants to fix all this.” 

Bucky sighed. “I… I wish I could believe that. But every time I try to trust him, he screws it up all over again. Some of it’s my fault, but… I don’t understand why he acts the way he does. It’s not right. It’s not  _ him.”  _

Natasha nodded. “I know. But he  _ does _ care about you, okay? He was the one who decided to let you into the restricted areas, you know. We didn’t figure it out until after the whole sleepwalking fiasco. He’d… hacked the security system. It was sort of impressive. I still don’t know why he did it, really. You’ll have to ask him sometime. And he’s been coming to see you since you first arrived. He was so excited when you first came in — it was so cute. I’d never seen him behave that way before. And… he bought you that notebook. He  _ does  _ care, Bucky. He’s trying to look out for you.” 

Bucky sighed mournfully. Maybe she was right. Maybe Steve  _ did  _ care, but if he did, it wasn’t to the extent that she seemed to think. 

He had too much to think about. First the dinner party, then the notebooks, and now Natasha came by and piled all this on. Maybe he  _ was  _ gay, and maybe Steve  _ did  _ care about him. And maybe the moon was made of cheese. 

“Bucky?” She said softly. “Are you all right?”

“I’m — I’m fine,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “Really.” 

“Well, thank you for the tea,” she said. “And it was nice talking to you. I hadn’t seen you in ages.” She stood abruptly and took her empty mug to the sink. 

Bucky stood, too, ready to see her out now that she seemed to have decided they were done. “It was nice talking to you, too. I’ll… I’ll call Steve soon.”

“And you can call me, too,” she said as she headed for the door. “If you need anything. Or if you just wanna talk.” She smiled — more genuinely than she’d smiled so far that day — and reached for the door handle. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“See you soon,” Bucky echoed. 


	28. Jesus, Steve. Calm down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I'm so late! But I'm _really_ excited about the next chapter!   
> And I have two and a half weeks off school now (I'll bet you can't guess why) so there's plenty of opportunities for me to write in the near future!

Steve called again the next day. By then, Bucky was starting to get uncomfortable with the clutter in his room, and he was trying to clean it up. That was easier said than done, which made it a very effective distraction from his thoughts about Steve, but it was still very dull work. 

He got a little too excited when the phone started to ring. 

He'd hoped it would be Natasha, but one glance at the caller ID showed that it wasn't. He paused, unsure if he should even pick up. Steve was the last person he wanted to talk to: the thought of the conversation that they would have made his stomach squirm.

Heart fluttering, he picked up the phone to answer it. 

“Hey,” said a familiar voice on the other side. It wasn’t as warm as he remembered. “You doing all right, Bucky?” 

“Hey, Steve,” he said softly. “I’m… I’m all right. I’m sorry I haven’t been answering your calls.” He went to sit down on the bed, which was freshly made for once, with clean sheets and soft pillows. 

“It’s okay. Nat told me everything, Buck. I… I wanted to apologize.” 

“You don’t — you don’t have to. If you’re just doing it because Natasha wanted you to in the first place, then… don’t worry about it. I talked to her, too, you know.” 

He'd rather have no apology at all than whatever Natasha was forcing Steve to say. For a moment, he pictured her standing there in the room with Steve, listening in on the conversation and holding up cue cards to indicate what she wanted him to say next. It almost made him laugh. 

“No,” Steve insisted. “Really. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that. I’m sorry. It was rude.” 

“It’s  _ okay,”  _ Bucky said. “I’m  _ fine.  _ You had to go to bed, I’m glad I didn’t keep you late.” 

“And she told me that… what I said to you before I left… it upset you, too. I’m really sorry about that, Buck.” 

Bucky winced. He wouldn’t have told her if he’d known she was going to go and tell Steve  _ immediately.  _ What  _ else  _ had she told him? That she thought he was gay? “Yeah. It’s… it’s stupid. I dunno why it upset me in the first place.” 

“Well… Nat said you seemed to think I was going to the march to — to break it up," Steve prompted. 

“Yeah, that’s what I assumed,” he admitted, his face going pink. Everyone had already pointed out how stupid it was. He didn’t need to go over it again. “I know I was wrong, okay? Jesus.” 

“Yeah. I’m surprised you haven’t… found out by now, Buck. I’m bisexual.” 

Bucky didn't seem to have heard him correctly. “You’re — you’re what?” He knew what that  _ meant,  _ of course, but he’d never imagined he would hear it from  _ Steve.  _

“I — I like guys. And girls. But I — I thought you knew. It’s been in the news for  _ years,  _ and I dunno. I guess I thought you had to have seen it somewhere. I go to protests and stuff all the time,” he said with a little shrug. “I’ve gone to a bunch of pride parades, too — they’re… really nice. Everything’s a lot different than it used to be.”

Bucky had no earthly idea what a “pride parade” was, but what he  _ did  _ know was that Natasha must have told Steve what she thought of him. 

But  _ Steve,  _ being  _ bisexual?  _ He could hardly comprehend what that might mean. Had he ever been with a man — would he ever want to be with  _ Bucky?  _

If he would, well,  _ if  _ he would, Bucky would address that issue when it came up, but  _ what if?  _ He’d never  _ really  _ thought about being with a man before because it had never seemed  _ possible.  _ He’d never met anyone like that before. He’d never thought it would be his own best friend. 

His face was suddenly very warm, and he found it difficult to pay attention to the conversation. What would it be like to date Steve?

Steve was still talking. He didn't seem to have noticed Bucky's lapse in attention. “I can take you to a pride parade sometime if you wanna find out what it’s like," he was saying, "I’ve taken Tony before, and Nat, and they’re really fun, you know. But you don’t have to... Bucky? You still there?” The anxiety in his voice made Bucky’s heart clench a little. 

“Yeah. I’m still here, Stevie. Sorry. I’d… I’d like to go, sometime.” 

“Well… they’re just about always in June, so we’ve got a while to wait anyway. But thanks. I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Me, too.” 

It struck him as sweet, even though he knew Natasha had probably put him up to it. Who knew if it was even _true._ He was excited, though, even if it  _ was  _ a long way off, and who knew if he’d even end up going anyway. But he’d try. He’d have to look up what a “pride parade” was when he got off the phone. 

They both went silent for a moment. 

“I’m sorry I dropped all this on you at once,” Steve said. “And I know it still doesn’t make up for the dinner party.”

“It’s  _ okay,”  _ Bucky said again. “Really. It’s no big deal. You didn’t really do anything wrong. I overreacted.” 

He  _ did  _ appreciate the apology. It was hard to stay mad at Steve anyway, especially after he and Natasha had properly explained everything. 

“You sure? I mean… I can try and make it up to you. We could go out to dinner together, just... just the two of us." 

Bucky couldn't see Steve's face, but he could hear the hesitance and the _nervousness_ in his voice. It trembled almost imperceptibly, and he paused in awkward places. 

“If you… if you want?” He said slowly. 

That  _ would  _ make it up to him, but the significance of being asked to dinner by someone who  _ liked guys  _ wasn’t lost on him — besides, Steve sounded so anxious that he felt bad for him. He'd go out to dinner with him if it would make him feel better. 

They’d done things like that before. They used to live together — one dinner was no big deal. 

“Yeah, of course I do. I know a place you’ll like, too. It’s been around since the forties. We didn’t eat there much, cause, well… it’s expensive, but it might be familiar? And it’s amazing, anyway. And it’s in a really pretty part of town, too, Buck.”

That didn’t  _ sound  _ like a very heterosexual thing to do, but Bucky couldn’t turn him down. It sounded like  _ fun.  _ “I’d like to go — when are you free?” 

“Is Saturday all right? I’m free other nights, too, though. If you’re busy.” 

The idea of Bucky being busy was almost laughable, except that he  _ had  _ been meaning to schedule an appointment with Dr. Stefurak. It wasn’t as if he’d have an appointment with her on a Saturday night, though. “No, Saturday night’s good.” Saturday was only two days away, but what would he do until then? He was already nervous, and sitting around in his room for two more days would drive him crazy. 

“Saturday it is, then. I have to go, but I’ll call you again before we go out, okay? And I’ll text you the name of the place so you can make sure you like it.”

“Okay, Stevie. That sounds good." 

"I should go, Buck. I have a meeting pretty soon. But I'll see you Saturday, okay?" 

"Yeah, see you Saturday." 


	29. Saturday, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, maybe self-isolation isn't so bad.   
> At least I get to write. And I've been painting a lot, too.   
> I hope you guys are all doing all right, and just in case, here's a whole chapter of our boys being gay to help you in these trying times.

Saturday couldn’t come quickly enough for Bucky. He was bored out of his mind — he could only clean his room  _ so much  _ — and he couldn’t bring himself to go outside. He even apologized to Jarvis and tried to make things up to him by leaving the notebooks outside his room. They were gone the next morning, and he regretted it immediately. Jarvis was still just as cold to him as he’d been before. 

He might have called Natasha and asked her to take him to a coffee shop, but he couldn’t even work up the courage or the  _ focus  _ to do that.

Steve called on Friday, though. They talked for a while, which did a lot to relieve his boredom but absolutely nothing to ease his nerves about their dinner plans. 

He was supposed to dress nicely. Steve told him to find a dress shirt. He’d already looked up the restaurant, and it was the most luxurious thing he’d ever  _seen:_ i t was huge, with high ceilings and big, heavy, glass light fixtures and wooden tables that looked handmade. There was a patio out back, lit by string lights and framed in by trellises that were covered in what looked like jasmine vines. 

The more he looked, the more luxurious it seemed: the menu was nothing but filet mignon and lobster and truffles and  _ gold _ , which you could get added onto any entree for a hefty price. 

He could scarcely believe that Steve would bring him  _ there  _ because it was so much prettier and so much more  _ expensive _ than he deserved, but they were going. They were going to go in less than twenty-four hours, and they were going to sit out on that patio under the stars and the string lights and eat filet mignon and lobster. 

If Steve wanted to make up for what he’d done, he’d achieved that just by  _ inviting  _ Bucky. 

* * *

  
  


The big day came, at last — Bucky got dressed hours early, taking all the time he needed to pick out the best outfit he could and to style his hair and to make sure Jarvis approved of the whole thing. 

Jarvis treated him like he was a teenage girl going on her very first date — he tried not to be insulted, and instead to appreciate the encouragement he gave. 

Steve arrived on time, like usual. When he knocked on the door, Bucky’s heart was pounding so loudly that he could hardly hear it.

He opened it and there he was, standing on the doorstep. 

He looked up at him in awe. His hair was perfect, slightly messy and so  _ soft  _ that Bucky wanted to run his fingers through it right then and there. He wore a pale blue button-down that  _ just  _ matched his eyes, and his face was faintly pink and he looked so  _ nervous _ even though he had no reason to be. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, a little breathlessly. 

“Hey. You ready to go…? Our reservation’s a little early, and we still gotta get there.” Steve smiled sheepishly — it was such a perfect, bright smile, his teeth were so  _ white  _ and his lips were so soft and  _ pink.  _

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m… I’m ready, Stevie. Let’s go. We’re driving? How far is this place?” 

He didn't remember Steve ever having a car. He didn't remember him knowing how to _drive._

Steve laughed. “Just a couple of blocks. But there’s a nice little street with a bunch of shops and cafes and things like that, too. I was hoping we could check it out after dinner, and maybe get dessert, but it’s a lot of walking. I didn’t want us to be too tired.” 

“Oh. That sounds… nice, Stevie.” 

“Let’s go, then. I’d  _ really  _ hate to be late.” 

“The car’s downstairs in the parking garage. I parked right by the elevator ‘cause it’s kinda  _ cold…”  _ Steve trailed off. “Anyway. Let’s go.”

“I looked the place up online.” Bucky walked with him down the hall. “It looks  _ really  _ nice, you know. I’m so excited about it — I’ve never  _ been  _ anywhere so nice before in my life.” 

Steve turned to look at him. “You  _ have,  _ Buck. We’ve been before. It’s an old place — we used to go, sometimes, when we were younger. We had to save up for  _ months  _ back then, but it’s so good, it was always worth it. You’ll remember when we go in.”

Bucky wasn’t so sure he would. These days, his memory was spotty at best. “Will you tell me about it? What was it like back then?”

“Well… it was smaller. They’ve expanded since then. But they’ve always had the little patio outside, with the trellises and the jasmine. You used to love it, and we’d always go when the weather was nice and sit out there. The lights are new, though — did you see the pictures? They just put them up a couple of years back. Before that, they used to use regular old lampposts. It’s so  _ pretty  _ — you’ll love it. The inside of the restaurant looks just the way it used to, except that they’ve added on at the back.” 

“I can’t wait to see it, Stevie. It sounds so pretty. And I looked at their menu, too, and I didn’t see pictures, but didn’t they used to have a garden outback?” If they’d expanded, they might have gotten rid of the garden. 

“They  _ did  _ have a garden,” he said, his eyes lighting up as he glanced over at Bucky. “You remember? They let us walk around and look at it, and they mostly grew herbs, but there were flowers, too, and we used to pick them and bring them home?” 

“Yeah, and you used to say it was stealing?” Bucky smiled softly. 

“They still have the garden. They had to move some things around when they expanded, so it’s not exactly right anymore, but it’s bigger now. And it’s really pretty, Buck. We’ll have to look at it while we’re there.” 

They’d reached the elevator. It opened for them like it usually did, and Steve stepped aside to let Bucky in first. 

“Thanks, Stevie. What floor is the parking garage on?” He asked, his eyes roving over the buttons on the elevator wall. Many of them weren’t even numbered. 

Steve reached over to press the button for him. “Basement one. The numbering system for the floors is  _ bullshit.  _ It takes forever to learn what’s what.” He grinned sheepishly — it was  _ such  _ a pretty smile.

Bucky found himself smiling back. It was hard to tell if the fluttery feeling in his stomach was from the butterflies or from the elevator. Maybe it was both. 

The elevator jerked to a halt, and the doors opened. Bucky stood back to let Steve lead him outside. 

“Tony keeps  _ his  _ cars upstairs,” Steve said, leading Bucky towards one of the only cars in the garage. “I tried to borrow one but he wouldn’t let me.” He shook his head in mock disappointment, taking out his keys and unlocking the doors. 

Bucky got into the passenger’s side and Steve got into the driver’s seat. It was a make and model he didn’t recognize, but it was  _ nice  _ — a pale blue SUV with black leather seats and tinted windows. “This is a nice car, though, Stevie,” he commented, pulling the door shut. It was  _ heavy.  _

“Thanks. It was… a gift. From Nat.” 

“Damn.” 

“Yeah. She gives  _ really  _ nice Christmas gifts. I dunno where she even bought this.” 

He laughed. 

“It’s  _ armored.  _ You can’t tell from looking, but this thing’s like a tank. It’s got great gas mileage, too. I use it on missions, mostly. I’m not used to driving it around the city.” 

“Missions?” Natasha had said something about the “missions” once, and of course, there was the rescue mission, but he still didn’t know what they  _ were.  _ “What are those like?”

“Well… I work for something called SHIELD. I do whatever they want me to do. Lots of recon work — I’ve fought aliens before. It’s something new every mission.” 

“That sounds exciting.” Bucky didn’t like the idea of Steve fighting  _ aliens  _ or whatever the hell else he did with these people. It sounded so dangerous — what if he got hurt?

“Yeah. It sucks, sometimes, but it’s not a boring job, at least.” Steve put the car in reverse and turned to look behind them as he backed out of the parking spot. The way he put his arm across the back of Bucky’s seat when he turned around had no reason to make his heart flutter the way it did. 

He tried not to notice. “Do you do that kind of stuff often?”

“Usually, yeah. Not much has been happening lately, though. I’ve had a lot of free time, but my… my  _ boss  _ has been making me come to meetings and do paperwork and stuff. It’s useless. Makes me miss fighting aliens.” 

Steve turned back around to face front as they left the garage, and Bucky tried to shove down his disappointment. 

“It’s  _ that bad,  _ huh? But… aliens? Really? What are they like?” 

“Big, ugly things,” Steve said with an indifferent little shrug. Bucky got the feeling he was used to this conversation, if not tired of it. “Kind of humanoid — big teeth, looked like they were covered in metal. We kept a few bits and pieces after we fought them off. If you’d like to see for yourself.” He glanced over at Bucky, a slightly mischievous smile coming over his face. 

“I’d — I’d love to,” Bucky said, a little taken aback. “Could you really show me?” 

He was having trouble processing the idea that Steve had fought  _ aliens,  _ never mind the fact that they apparently had specimens left to  _ look at.  _ He still didn’t quite believe that aliens were  _ real.  _

“Yeah, I mean… the security on those things is kind of intense,” Steve admitted. “But if you really wanna see them, I’ll see what I can do. But they’re — they’re not pretty. They’re not fun to look at or anything.”

“Aw, come on, Stevie, they’re  _ aliens, _ ” he said with a laugh. “I wouldn’t expect them to be cute or anything. I’d love to see if you guys let me in.” 

“Yeah. I’ll work on it. They’re strict, but people seem to like you. Besides, it’s not like you’re gonna steal an alien’s arm and use it to clone them or anything.” 

Bucky laughed. “Hey, thank you for the idea, Stevie. But… you’re right. I think I’ll be on my best behavior if you guys are gonna let me see  _ aliens.”  _

“And they’re  _ amazing,  _ anyway, so it’s really worth it, Buck. I can try and get you in sometime this week.” 

“I’d like that,” Bucky agreed.

They both fell silent.  _ Aliens.  _ How about that? It was by far the weirdest thing he’d heard of so far, and yet he wasn’t even that surprised by it. The tower was so high-tech — even on the surface — that it came as no surprise to him that these people had discovered extraterrestrial life, too. And Steve was going to let him see them. 

He glanced fondly over at him. Steve didn’t seem to have noticed him looking, and since he hadn’t been caught, he didn’t bother to look away.

He had the same look on his face that he always got when he was focusing on something: his jaw was slightly clenched, his eyes were narrowed, and his eyebrows were drawn down a little. He was adorable. 

Bucky wrenched his eyes away reluctantly when he became aware of just  _ how long  _ he’d been looking. If Steve caught him, he would have a hell of a lot to explain. 

Face burning, he turned away and stared out the window. 

The car slowed, and it took him a moment to realize that this time they weren’t at an intersection. Steve was parking. 

His heart started to flutter like it had when he’d heard the knock on the door earlier that night. He’d get out of the car and walk into a restaurant, and after that, they were going to go shopping and maybe they’d get dessert. It was something almost like a date — he was  _ definitely  _ being spoiled. 

He didn’t mind — he  _ liked  _ it. 

He didn’t put too much thought into what that might have meant for him. It didn’t matter, because he had more things to think about. Like what he was going to order for dinner. 

The car edged into a parking spot and Steve put on the parking brake.

“This is it, Buck,” he said softly. 

Bucky glanced out the window as Steve turned off the headlights, and there it was — it looked oddly familiar. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he’d never seen the place before in his life. Outside the tower, he’d certainly never seen anything so luxurious. It was a tall, narrow building, built out of dark brick with tall windows. It was flanked by other, similar buildings — a little boutique and a café. Golden light poured out of the windows. He couldn’t see inside in any great detail, because the contrast between the dark and those bright lights made them almost blinding, but it was  _ beautiful.  _

He stared for far too long, and he only stopped to let out a yelp of surprise when the car door swung open. 

Steve stood on the other side — he was laughing to himself. 

“Sorry, Buck,” he said. “Come on, let’s go inside. It’s cold.” 

Bucky got out of the car and joined Steve on the sidewalk. It wasn’t  _ that  _ cold — he’d definitely been colder. Nevertheless, he started to head towards the front doors of the restaurant.

The sidewalk and the street were surprisingly crowded. There even more people than there had been when he’d gone out with Natasha, and they were  _ everywhere.  _ They were mostly couples, it seemed, and groups of friends, many of them dressed in very nice clothing and carrying expensive-looking handbags. 

They looked happy and innocent — Bucky wondered if that was how he and Steve looked to the other people on the sidewalk. There were a few people, though, that caught his attention as he glanced over his shoulder, just before reaching the steps that led up to the restaurant. 

Behind them were four or five men with neat, close-cropped hair, their suits impeccable and matching one another  _ perfectly.  _ Something small, round, and silver glittered on each of their lapels. 

Bucky hastily turned away, pressing closer to Steve as the two of them climbed the steps. 

Steve held the door for him, and Bucky pushed down his nerves and went inside. 


	30. Saturday, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh this is so _long_ I'm really sorry guys ;)  
> It looks like I'll have to split this up into three chapters instead of two! 
> 
> On another note, this fic is _so_ much fun to write, but even so, I could not have made it this far without you guys. Thank you so much for all your lovely comments, and I love each and every one of you guys!

Once they were safely inside, it was easy to forget about the men he’d seen. 

The place was  _ beautiful.  _ The photographs hadn’t done it justice. 

The ceilings were high, with rustic wooden beams, and the tables were large and sturdy and made from matching wood. The walls were covered in delicate floral wallpaper, the windows were tall and framed with white wood, the floors were hardwood and white tile. Mismatched light fixtures hung from the ceiling. Some of them were single light bulbs covered with what looked like mason jars, but others were made from wrought iron and approached the size of chandeliers. There was a large, stone fireplace at the end of the room, and it was blazing. 

"How many?" The hostess asked in a bored voice.

"Two," Steve said. 

Bucky thought he heard a note of pride in his voice as Steve glanced back at him. 

"Inside or outside?" She asked. 

"Outside," he said, with another glance back at Bucky to confirm. 

He nodded. Outside was good — he wanted to see the patio again. He could almost smell the jasmine. 

She picked up a couple of menus. "Right this way, then." 

The two of them followed her through the dining room and out the back door, and she led them to a table on the patio.

The patio was just as beautiful as the inside of the restaurant had been. It was fenced in by trellises that were covered in jasmine vines, just like Bucky remembered from the photos. Everything was lit by what looked like white Christmas lights strung above the patio, which bathed everything in a rich, golden glow. The garden was off to one side, terribly overgrown and surrounded by a stone wall that seemed to be on the brink of collapse. There were only a few tables out here, all covered in white tablecloths and decorated with candles. Many of them were empty — it was a cold night. Bucky understood why most people would want to sit inside on a night like this. 

The hostess led them to a table and laid out menus for them.

"One of our servers will be right over to take your orders soon. Have a good night." 

Before either of them could reply, she was gone, and they took their seats. 

Steve opened his menu and looked down at it absently as if he were thinking. "Do you remember much of this?" He asked softly, glancing shyly up at Bucky. 

"I do," he said. 

Steve's eyes lit up, making Bucky's heart flutter in his chest. "You do?"

“Yeah.” He smiled. “I remember the way the jasmine smells — especially in the spring. And I remember sitting at that table over there, on your birthday. I think you were twenty-one. We drank a whole lot of wine and we ate that chocolate cake…”

Steve nodded eagerly. “They still make that cake. We can’t — we can’t drink anymore. It doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to, with the serum. But we can order some cake if you want.” 

“We can’t drink?” Bucky asked curiously. He hadn’t tried since he’d arrived at the tower. Jarvis wouldn’t have let him, even if he’d wanted to. 

“Nope.” He smiled grimly. “Can’t get drunk. Even if we each drank a gallon of plain vodka, nothing would happen. It’s  _ terrible.”  _

Bucky couldn't remember Steve drinking, aside from the wine, but that didn’t mean much. “Damn. Well, we can still drink hot chocolate, at least.” 

“Yeah. There’s always hot chocolate, and there’s a little shop down the street that sells fudge and candy and stuff like that. And they have  _ really _ good hot chocolate. Do you wanna go and see if we can get some after dinner?” 

Bucky nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. I’d love to. Maybe we can get some fudge, too…?” That was probably a little much if they were getting cake and hot chocolate  _ on top  _ of their huge, fancy dinner, but they could always just take it home for later. He could eat fudge for breakfast in the morning. 

“Yeah. Of course we can.” Steve grinned. “You need to try it, anyway. It’s  _ amazing.”  _

“God, I haven’t had fudge in years,” Bucky said. 

“I know. Me neither. You remember that place we used to go to — that little shop by your parents’ house?” He asked. “They used to have the  _ best  _ fudge, Buck. You used to stop by on your way over to my ma’s apartment sometimes.”

“Is it still around?” He asked. As far as he could remember, the place was too far away from the restaurant and the tower to go that night, but maybe they could visit sometime soon. It would be a good excuse to go out again. 

“No,” Steve said sadly. “It closed in the seventies, Buck. I’m sorry. But there’s plenty of other places these days. We can go and look sometime, if you like…?”

“Yeah. I’d — I’d like that.” He smiled softly. “Maybe later this week?” 

“Yeah. Later this week.” He nodded. 

A waitress came up to their table, notepad in hand. “Hi, guys,” she said cheerily. “My name is Carrie, what would you guys like to drink?”

Steve didn’t even glance at the menu. “I’ll have a cherry Coke.” 

“I’ll have a cherry Coke, too, please,” Bucky said. He hadn’t had one in  _ ages.  _

“All right, I’ll be right over with your drinks in just a moment. Let me know if you need anything else.”

She left, and Bucky glanced up from his menu and caught Steve’s eye. “You said there were some shops around here that we could visit, right?” 

“Yeah. All kinds. There’s a bookstore that I like, and an art supply store — but we don’t have to go in there, don’t worry.”

“I’d like to go and see the art supply store,” he said. “I mean — if you want to? I’d like to see what kinds of art supplies they sell these days.”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “If you really wanna see? I mean, I can show you — we can go after dinner if you really want to. I need some paint anyway, but I… if you wanna see, I mean, I’d be happy to show you what it’s like. And we can visit a bookstore, too, because they have all kinds of new books and I wanted to take you anyway…” He was rambling like he sometimes did when he was excited. 

Bucky was somewhat taken aback by how cute he found the whole thing. He smiled to himself, doing his best to hide it but being supremely unsuccessful. “I’d really like that, Stevie.”

“And we have to look at the garden, too, before we go. It’s cold but they have a whole bunch of plants that grow  _ really well  _ in cold weather, and they’re so pretty and they won’t mind if we pick some flowers — they’re always really nice about stuff like that.” 

“Yeah, I — I don’t have a vase or anything in my room, but we can take some back for you.” 

Steve shook his head. “No, we can pick out a vase for you. I have a couple at home. You can borrow one, or we can buy one if you want.” 

“No, I can… if you don’t mind, I can just borrow one from you for a few days,” he said. He didn’t remember Steve ever being the kind of person to buy or use things like  _ vases,  _ but maybe he just wasn’t remembering right.

“No, of course you can. I don’t mind.” 

They both fell silent for a moment. Bucky stared down at his menu. 

He cleared his throat softly. “Hey, Stevie?” He said softly. 

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for doing all this for me. You didn’t have to, and it’s — it’s really sweet of you. I really like this place, and I remember how we used to eat here on special occasions, and I’m really looking forward to going shopping and getting dessert and everything, and… thank you.” He smiled sheepishly.

“Hey, any time. I like doing things like this with you. And I owed you, anyway,” Steve added. 

Even in the low light, he could see a dark blush creeping up his neck. He glanced away again. 

Carrie came back to save them from their moment of awkwardness. She set their drinks down and pulled out her notepad. “Are you two ready to order?” She asked. 

Steve glanced over at Bucky, who nodded. 

“I’ll have the… lobster macaroni and cheese,” Steve said, after a hasty glance at his menu that made Bucky think he might not have looked at it all until now. 

Bucky’d had his mind made up long before he’d even looked at the menu. He ordered a ribeye and a side of sweet potato  crème brûlée. He didn’t  _ quite  _ remember what it had tasted like, but he would soon enough. 

When Carrie left again, Steve looked up at Bucky with a small, shy smile on his face. “That’s the same thing you always ordered. Steak and sweet potato  crème brûlée .”

“I know,” he said with a little sigh. “I’m going to let you have some, don’t worry.” 

Steve laughed. “Thanks. I’ll let you have some of my macaroni, too.”

“Lobster macaroni and cheese,” Bucky said, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s  _ insane,  _ Stevie.” 

“I know, it’s new. They didn’t used to have it here, but I thought I’d try it. It sounds good, doesn’t it?” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t get truffles on it, too.” 

Steve laughed. “I should’ve. Do you think it’s too late to ask?” 

“For… what was it, like, a hundred bucks? I wouldn’t think so.” 

“A hundred bucks?  _ Yikes.  _ Never mind.” 

“What? I thought money was  _ different  _ these days,” Bucky protested. 

“Not different enough for me to pay a hundred dollars for a handful of mushrooms,” Steve said with an offhanded shrug. “I’d rather just go out and look for them myself if it’s gonna cost me that much.” 

Bucky laughed. “Sounds like a fun time. Can I come with you?”

“Yeah, sure. Gonna need someone to help me keep the spiders and raccoons and snakes and shit away.” 

He pretended to look insulted, but the idea of walking around in the woods with Steve was almost  _ appealing.  _ Maybe they’d have to go hiking sometime. And look for mushrooms while they were at it. “Fine. If you’re afraid of  _ snakes,  _ I’ll help you out.” 

“Hey!” Steve protested. “You can’t tease me for being scared of  _ snakes.”  _

“Why not?” Bucky raised his eyebrows. 

“You don’t remember those little beetles we used to get in our old apartment, do you?” He asked, a positively evil smile on his face. “You were so scared of them, you used to make me kill them for you.” 

The memory came back easily. They looked like cockroaches, about the same size, but iridescent black. They’d had  _ wings  _ — they’d been able to fly, and they did. Often. Bucky shuddered. “Yeah, I remember now. Thanks, Stevie.”

Steve was laughing again. He had such a pretty laugh, even though at the moment it could hardly be described as innocent. “Yeah. So you can’t say anything about snakes, Buck.”

He shook his head, laughing softly. “Okay, okay, fine. But you can’t say anything about the beetles, either.  _ Snakes.  _ They’re just like worms. Don’t even have  _ legs.”  _ He took a sip of his soda as if he’d settled the matter. 

Of course, both of them had dealt with much worse than snakes and beetles. Steve had fought  _ aliens  _ — Bucky didn’t understand how he could still be afraid of snakes after that. Had they looked like snakes? But he knew better than to try and ask. He was still surprised that he got to go and see them. 

They were both silent for a little while. Bucky was starting to realize how hungry he was — he’d been so nervous earlier that day that he’d hardly been able to eat. He was regretting that now. 

He found himself watching Steve again. 

Steve himself seemed oblivious — he was staring at something over Bucky’s shoulder. The garden was over in that direction. A couple of people were sitting back there, too. The dim, golden glow of the string lights made his eyes look almost  _ green.  _ Freckles stood out here and there across his nose and cheeks. There was one on his cheekbone that almost looked like a speck of dirt, but Bucky knew better. His hand rested on the table beside his plate, and how  _ easy  _ it would be to reach over and take it… 

He wasn’t supposed to think like that. No matter how lovely it would be — no matter how soft and warm that hand may have been, he  _ could not  _ reach out and take it. 

That didn’t stop the strange, guilty feeling that was gathering in his stomach. He swallowed hard and looked away, fiddling with his napkin as a distraction.  _ If only  _ he could hold Steve’s hand.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “You okay over there?” 

His head snapped up. Had he  _ noticed?  _ “Sorry,” he said hastily. “I just — I got distracted. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Steve said. “It happens.” He smiled softly. 

“Yeah.” Bucky felt himself blushing, but there wasn’t anything he could do to hide it. “Thanks.” 

He had no idea what he’d have done if Steve had asked him what was wrong — or if he’d caught him staring. He was probably wondering, to be fair, but at least he hadn’t  _ asked.  _

Thankfully, before he had time to, Carrie came back with their food. She set each plate down carefully on the table — they were so hot that Bucky was surprised she didn’t burn herself. She hardly seemed to notice. 

“Anything else I can get for you?” She asked. 

Steve shook his head. “No, thank you.” 

Bucky was tempted to ask for truffles, but it was already too late. She’d left. 

He eyed Steve’s macaroni as he took a bite of his steak. He needed to be polite and wait until he  _ offered,  _ of course, but it looked amazing. It smelled nice, too. Steve glanced up and saw him looking. 

“Want some?” He asked with a small smile. 

“God, I do,” Bucky said. 

Steve pushed the plate towards him, and he took a forkful. 

It was easily the best macaroni and cheese he’d ever tasted. “ _ Damn,”  _ he said, laughing softly. “That’s really good.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Steve said, grinning. “Can I have some of your potatoes now?”

Bucky obediently pushed the dish towards him. 

They ate most of their meal in silence, Steve occasionally reaching over to steal more potatoes. 

As he watched him, Bucky wondered how difficult it would be to learn how to make it himself. He remembered knowing how to cook before, and he certainly had a kitchen — maybe he’d look up a recipe. 

They  _ were  _ excellent — easily the best sweet potatoes he’d ever tasted. They were warm and buttery, and the sugary topping was so fine that it cracked before he’d hardly touched it. They’d probably be hard to make, but it would be nice to  _ try.  _

If the pancake recipe was anything to go by, Steve might even want to help him. 

He might try to make homemade macaroni and cheese sometime, too, but he had no idea where he’d even  _ find  _ lobster — let alone what he’d do with it once he had it. 

He’d figure it out. 

Their meal was over all too soon. Bucky pushed his empty plate away — Steve had finished the potatoes a few minutes ago. He didn’t mind. He was full enough already, but Steve seemed to be constantly hungry. 

Carrie came back a short while later with the check. Bucky watched in fascination as she took Steve’s credit card and swiped it through a little device she wore attached to her belt. He wanted to ask Steve how it worked, but he was a little afraid of looking like an idiot. He’d ask Jarvis when he got home, he decided. 

Steve stood and Bucky did, too. He waited for him to put on his jacket, which he’d left on the back of his chair. 

“Do you want to go and see the garden while we’re here?” Steve asked, glancing up at Bucky with a shy smile. 

“Yeah, of course.” He was starting to remember the men he’d seen outside. He wasn’t anxious to get back out into the open where they could follow him around, and… besides, he’d been looking forward to picking flowers with him. 

Steve’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Well… let’s go, then. We can… we can get dessert after.” 

“Yeah. That sounds good.” He nodded. “I’m looking forward to dessert, Stevie.” 

He followed him toward the garden, which was really just a small area at one end of the patio that was surrounded by a low, brick wall. The wall was dilapidated, covered in jasmine and ivy, but it was as well lit by the string lights as any other part of the garden. 

The flowers were blooming, even in the winter. They smelled heavenly. 

They walked through it slowly, admiring the flowers and the planters full of fragrant herbs. All of them were labeled, by way of little handwritten notes on the planters and posts beside the plants. 

Bucky loved the place — it was so  _ peaceful.  _ They were nearly hidden from the rest of the patio, and he felt at ease even in the dark. He was tempted to make a joke about snakes or beetles, but he didn’t. 

Steve surprised him by reaching down to pick a bunch of small, fiery red flowers — they were labeled as kaffir lilies. Bucky thought he recognized them. 

Suddenly a little unsure that they weren’t going to get into trouble for it, he reached down to pick some of his own. There were flowers  _ everywhere  _ — he hadn’t realized until now just how many there were — and soon enough, he and Steve had both wandered off. 

He gathered up as many flowers as he could — more lilies, camellias, Christmas roses, and some that weren’t labeled, or that the labels had worn off of. There was some kind of iris, small and delicate and very  _ blue,  _ growing in one of the corners of the garden. That was his favorite. 

The two of them met back up where they’d come in, each holding a sizable bunch of flowers. 

“I can carry yours for you,” Steve offered. “We’ll find something to wrap them up in so they don’t wilt before we get back home.”

Bucky held them out to him. “Good idea, Stevie. Did we… did we used to do that?” 

“Yeah. We did.” He smiled softly. “Used to bring an old shirt or something with us. I… I didn’t think of that this time. I’ll bet we can find some paper towels, though.”

They both fell silent as they went back out onto the patio. 

“Aw, fuck, Bucky, I almost forgot,” Steve said suddenly. “We were supposed to get cake. Do you still want some? We can go inside. They have a counter with desserts and stuff.” 

He’d forgotten, too, but he was  _ dying  _ for a piece of cake. “Yeah, sure. If you don’t mind…?”

“We can both just take it home to eat later,” he said, turning to go back inside. 

“And it’ll be warm in there,” Bucky added. “It’s freezing out here.” 

“Oh, you’re — you’re cold?” Steve asked, turning to look at him in surprise, even as he held the door open for him. “I’m sorry. Here — you can — you can have my jacket, if you want, Bucky. I’m not cold, I don’t mind.” 

Bucky shook his head. “No… thanks, though, Stevie,” he said. He wished he could have accepted, but something about that was just _wrong_. Even though that jacket looked so soft and warm and it must have smelled so nice. “Thanks anyway. I can — I can go and get some wet paper towels from the bathroom if you want, while you’re here. For the flowers.” 

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good. I’ll only be a minute, meet you back here?” 

They were nearly at the counter. Even despite how full he was, the display at the counter was mouth-watering. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” 

“See you.” He turned away, heading for the bathroom. 

It was easily the nicest bathroom he’d ever  _seen._ It was all clean, white tile and striped wallpaper and sinks that could have been marble. He came out with the paper towels and went back to meet Steve. 

Steve was standing right where he’d left him, the flowers in one hand and a paper bag in the other, which he assumed was full of cake. 

He held up the paper towels, and he handed him the flowers. 

“Got us a plastic bag, too,” Steve said. “So we won’t get all wet carrying those around all night.” He nodded towards the flowers, which Bucky was now clumsily wrapping in wet paper towels. 

“Oh, good idea,” he said. “Thanks, Stevie.” He laughed softly, not protesting when Steve reached over to help him. 

This must have been a somewhat odd sight to the other patrons of the restaurant, and the woman behind the counter was certainly giving them an odd look, but it was getting late and the place was clearing out. The people who were still there were all busy eating — Bucky couldn’t blame them for being distracted by the food. 

They got the flowers wrapped up in the paper towels and plastic, after a little awkwardness and trial and error, because Steve’s hands were full with the cake and Bucky’s metal hand was clumsy and he was scared of either hurting Steve or damaging them. 

But they did it. Bucky held onto the flowers, Steve adjusted the bag in his arms, and they headed for the door. 


	31. Saturday, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm real sorry for leaving you guys hanging. Quarantine's been rough, but I'll try to do better next time.   
> I hope you're all holding up ok! <3

Bucky stepped down onto the sidewalk beside Steve, the flowers held in his good hand. Steve stepped down beside him. “Where are we gonna go now?” He asked. 

“I… I dunno,” Steve admitted. “Just about everything’s down that way.” He gestured down the street to the left. “The bookstore is right here. We can find some things for you, then go grab some fudge?” 

“Sounds good to me,” he said, even though he had  _ plenty  _ of books left at home, and his journal was nowhere near full. Maybe he could find something Steve would like. He certainly had plenty of ideas — he’d read so many books in the last few days, and he’d even looked some more up online when he remembered them, which happened on occasion. 

“It’s really close,” Steve said. “Just a couple of doors down.” 

“That’s… really convenient, actually,” Bucky said. He was so full that he didn’t want to walk much further, anyway, no matter how beautiful the street was. 

It  _ was  _ beautiful. It wasn’t all that dark, because it was still lit by streetlights and the moon and the light that flooded out of the open windows and doors. The crowds from earlier had dissipated somewhat, and although the street was far from deserted, Bucky found that he didn’t mind the people at all. They certainly didn’t make him anxious, and the men he’d seen earlier that night were far from his thoughts now. 

Antique-looking lamp posts lined the street— most of the light came from them. The walls of the surrounding buildings were of a similar age, all multi-storied and brick with tall windows, sometimes covered with ivy... They felt very familiar, much like the restaurant had. He wondered if they’d all been around when he’d come here before — they certainly looked similar enough. The street was narrow and the buildings were tall, but far from feeling claustrophobic, it was almost… cozy. 

He followed Steve down the street, marveling at how beautiful and how  _ familiar  _ it all was. He adjusted the flowers a little — they were so very  _ fragile,  _ and he was afraid of damaging them. 

They found the bookstore and went inside. It was a small shop, with high, wooden bookshelves. It was lit by an assortment of lamps and reading lights on mismatched tables. It was lovely, Bucky decided, as he led Steve towards the  _ classics  _ section. 

It was hidden in the back of the store, and there was no one else in sight — the lights were dimmer, here, too, and it was dusty. 

“You looking for anything in particular?” Steve asked, looking around at the shelves. His eyes were full of wonder — they practically  _ shone,  _ and they were such a pretty blue… 

Bucky blinked up at him. “Not sure,” he admitted. “Guess I just want to see what they have, maybe grab something…” He shrugged. 

“I’d be happy to help you look,” Steve said. 

He couldn’t refuse the offer. It was so sweet, and Steve seemed to have a good enough sense of what he liked to read, anyway. 

They spent the next few minutes browsing through the shelves, Bucky not picking anything up and Steve gathering up a rapidly growing stack of books, which was getting so large that he was having difficulty holding it. 

“Do you want some help with that?” Bucky asked, at last, his voice tinged with amusement. 

Steve shook his head. “No, Buck, it’s all right. Thank you. What do you think of this, though?” He held up some obscure little novel that Bucky had never even seen before. 

Bucky would have objected, but he looked so happy that he couldn’t bring himself to — besides if all of those were for him… well, he’d nearly finished the box of books he had at home. He’d need some more. “It looks good, Stevie,” he said. 

Steve added it to the pile. 

Something on one of the shelves caught Bucky’s eye. He’d been  _ looking  _ for something for Steve to read — he didn’t even know if he liked books, but… well, it was the thought that counted, he supposed. He was going to all the trouble of picking out all those books, anyway — he  _ must  _ have read some of them himself. 

What Bucky had seen was an art history book. Steve liked to draw and paint and all that. Maybe he liked art history, too? 

As he flipped through it, a long-buried memory started to come back to him. 

He’d been in the kitchen in their little old apartment, standing at the counter. Steve was sitting at the kitchen table, a book in front of him, but he wasn’t paying attention to it. He was talking — daydreaming aloud about  _ art school,  _ and how he’d like to go and study painting and color theory and  _ art history  _ and all the fancy things he’d heard about. 

Inwardly, Bucky had promised to make sure he ended up there one day. 

“Buck?” Steve called softly, distracting him from his thoughts. 

He looked up, glancing around for him — he was still right beside him. “Yeah? Sorry. Got distracted there.” 

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling that soft smile that Bucky loved so much. “You ready to go…?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He held the book out to Steve. “What do you think of this?” He asked. “I… I remember you used to be interested in art history.”  _ You wanted to go to art school.  _ He’d have been a creep to point  _ that  _ out, though, so he kept his mouth shut. 

Steve broke into a smile and reached out to take the book. “Thanks,” he said, the smile making his way into his  _ voice.  _ The way he looked and sounded made Bucky feel weirdly warm inside. He didn’t know if he loved it or hated it. “I’ll… I’ll read it tonight.”

Bucky followed him to the checkout and waited as he paid for the books, still feeling so  _ warm  _ like he couldn’t remember feeling since that day he’d promised himself Steve would go to art school. 

He really needed to ask Jarvis about a bank account, he realized as he watched Steve pay for the books. Then  _ he  _ could treat Steve to things like this, and he could pay for art school, and… well, he’d probably have to get a job, but that wouldn’t be a big deal. He  _ did  _ need to get out more. In fact, he was starting to get curious about what it was  _ like  _ outside the Tower and the few places Steve and Natasha had shown him. 

His therapist would probably have been proud. 

Steve led him out of the shop, carrying a shopping bag full of books and tucking his wallet back into his pocket. 

“It’s getting late,” he said once they were outside. 

Bucky’s heart sank. It  _ was  _ late — Steve probably had an appointment or something early the next morning, too. “Yeah,” he said because he didn’t want to keep him up too late. He smiled softly. “You tired?” 

He remembered asking him that a lot, back in the forties. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was tired now, after all, he’d probably been awake since six o’clock that morning. 

“Yeah,” Steve admitted, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. Do you wanna get some ice cream or some fudge or something before we head back?” 

“Ice cream sounds nice,” Bucky said. He would  _ kill  _ for some chocolate ice cream right then — with whipped cream and a cherry on top. 

Steve seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “There’s one right down the street,” he said. “Right by where we parked. It’s  _ amazing,  _ Buck. It’s called Ben and Jerry’s — they have them all over now.” 

Bucky had never heard of the place, and he assumed he’d never been there before. “I’d like to try it,” he decided. He’d probably never be able to find it again if he didn’t jump on the opportunity now. He’d never had much sense of direction. 

Behind them, he caught a glimpse of a man in a suit, with that little silver pin on the lapel.  _ Fuck.  _ He pressed close to Steve, hoping for a little protection if the man got closer. “Let’s go,” he said, glancing over his shoulder again. The man had disappeared. 

Steve seemed oblivious to the men who had been following them as he led Bucky towards the ice cream shop. That was just as well, in Bucky’s opinion — if they were  _ both  _ nervous, it would have ruined their night. Worse, though, Steve would probably have decided to pick a fight with them if he’d noticed. He’d have won, too. The thought made him smile. 

Inside the ice cream shop, he relaxed a little more. It was hard to be nervous when Steve was buying him ice cream — something chocolatey with peanut butter and cookie dough mixed in. Steve’s ice cream was  _ cherry-flavored.  _ He’d even let Bucky have a taste — sure enough, it was incredible. 

He didn’t even feel shy about sharing food anymore. After all, they’d done it at just about every meal when they were younger. 

They ate outside, on another little patio set back from the street. They sat side-by-side on a bench, the flowers and the books on either side of them and Bucky leaning slightly against Steve’s shoulder. Steve used to do the same to him, he remembered, so it was only fair. 

He  _ did _ feel shy about that, but Steve hadn’t pushed him away. He’d hardly seemed to notice, except that he shifted closer, too. 

All too soon, they were both done eating, and they collected their things and headed back to the car. 

“This was fun,” Bucky said shyly. “I… I really liked doing this — maybe we could do it again sometime soon?” He’d  _ love  _ to take Steve out to a fancy restaurant, and they could drive out to the beach after… he remembered a pier they’d both liked to visit.  _ That  _ was pure daydreaming, but he also couldn’t seem to forget it once he’d thought of it. 

“Yeah, sometime soon,” Steve promised as he got into the driver’s seat. 

It was going to be a  _ short  _ drive home, and they’d have to split up almost as soon as they were inside. It  _ sucked.  _ He was looking forward to writing about it, though. Or, hell, maybe he could even tell Jarvis. 


	32. Gossip Night With the Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's short. sorry about that <3  
> more to come!

Both of them were quiet on the drive home. Bucky didn’t want their night out to end, and he was busy watching the other cars and the people on the sidewalk, checking for silver pins. He didn’t see any. Steve seemed preoccupied, too — he didn’t appear to be in a conversational mood. 

Once they were back at the Tower, they both went up to Steve’s room to find vases for their flowers. They spent a fun couple of minutes arranging their bouquets before neither of them could stall anymore, and finally, Steve walked Bucky back down to his room. 

When Steve was gone, Bucky set the vase of flowers on the kitchen table beside where Steve had put the new books and his slice of cake and got ready for bed. 

He lay down, but he had absolutely no intention of sleeping — how could he, after the night he’d just had?

“Jarvis?” He called softly. 

_ Yes?  _

“I… I… uh, I wanted to ask you about getting me a credit card,” Bucky said slowly. 

_ Of course. I’ll have one mailed to you in a few days.  _

That had been far easier than he’d expected — hell, Jarvis hadn’t even said anything about a bank account. Or a  _ job.  _ But then again, he supposed that was what Jarvis was for. 

Maybe he’d make him some money by strategically investing in the stock market or something. That’d be nice.

There was a brief moment of awkward silence in which neither of them spoke. Bucky had gotten somewhat used to Jarvis saying good night to him lately, so he figured something else was coming if he was hesitating like that. 

_ How was your date?  _ He finally asked. 

Bucky sat up indignantly. “It wasn’t a  _ date,”  _ he said. He  _ hated  _ the nervous little flip his stomach had done at the sound of the word. 

_ If you say so. But how was it? I’m curious. I don’t see that side of the Captain very often.  _

“The hell does that — never mind. It was… nice.” He found himself smiling slightly as he said it. “We both dressed up really nice — Steve looks really good in a dress shirt, you know, you saw when he came to get me — and he has a  _ really  _ nice car. And he took me out to that restaurant I told you about, and they had a little garden where we both picked flowers to take home —” He hardly stopped rambling for a moment, gesturing towards the kitchen. “And we stopped at a bookstore on the way home and he picked out all these nice books for me, and I found him an art history book, and —”

_ He loves the art history book.  _

Something about the way Jarvis phrased it made Bucky think he  _ knew,  _ hell, maybe he was watching Steve read it right now and just reporting back what he’d seen. His stomach did another little flip. 

“Jesus, I’m really glad he likes it. That’s why I wanted the credit card, so I could buy him more books. Anyway, we got ice cream after and it was really  _ good,  _ and I wanna go back and do it over again.” Bucky suddenly became aware of just  _ how much  _ he’d been rambling, and he stopped, looking abashedly up at the ceiling. 

_ Would you like me to have a word with him about it?  _

“No, I…” he blinked, startled by the offer. “That’s okay, Jarvis. Thanks, though.” 

_ You sound like you had fun. _

“Yeah, I did.” 

_ Have you considered that you may be attracted to the Captain?  _

Jarvis’s question shocked Bucky so much that he shrank down on himself a little, as though he were trying to hide. He hugged one of his pillows to his chest, blinking up at the ceiling in surprise and mild outrage. “I — no, of course not,” he said, but there was far more doubt in his voice than he would have liked. 

_ It’s not my call to make, of course. But you were so disappointed when he left you at the dinner party, and then you got so excited when he called to apologize, and even more so when he came out to you. And the look you get when he calls you ‘Buck,’ and how excited you were when you were getting ready for tonight. It’s not for me to judge, Bucky, but I do think you feel something for him. _

Bucky sat in silence, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn’t as if his being  _ gay  _ wasn’t something he’d ever wondered about before, after all. 

Maybe Jarvis was right. 

_ And Mr. Stark thinks you’re into him. If you have any regard for his opinion.  _

Bucky blushed furiously. “Hey!” He protested. “You can’t just — “ 

Jarvis made a noise that may have been a laugh, but it was hard to tell. It could have been static.  _ It’s his opinion. He doesn’t mind. _

Bucky didn’t reply. He lay there on the bed, staring gloomily up at the ceiling. Maybe Jarvis and Tony (and God knew who else) was  _ right.  _ Maybe he  _ was  _ into Steve. He’d been so excited when Steve had come out — he’d probably stared a little too long at the way the dress shirt clung to his chest and his  _ shoulders…  _

Steve was gorgeous, no doubt about that — and maybe that  _ was  _ gay. He’d always just thought he’d appreciated him as a friend. A good-looking friend, sure, but nothing more. 

_ Fuck.  _

Well, it wasn’t like Steve felt the same, either way. 


	33. Thanksgiving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I have an offer for ya. 
> 
> If you email me at cshamback@gmail.com with proof that you've donated to Black Lives Matter or a similar organization or signed at least three petitions for the same cause (screenshots work) I will write you a short fanfiction about whatever you want.*
> 
> *This offer excludes r*pe, inc*st, and real people, including historical figures. Only one fanfiction per email account, please. 
> 
> ********
> 
> If you aren't in a position to give money but would like to help out anyway, watch Zoe Amira's "Stream to donate" video here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCgLa25fDHM
> 
> All ad revenue from the video goes to Black Lives Matter, and incidentally, Zoe Amira is awesome and you should subscribe to her channel. 
> 
> *********
> 
> That's all for now, I think, enjoy the chapter!

Steve and Bucky spent the next few weeks hanging out together. They went out more nights than not — sometimes they took other friends with them, but mostly, they went alone. Steve also took to dropping by Bucky’s room when he had time to spare. He seemed to have a lot of that lately, and Bucky appreciated the company, but he wasn’t nearly brave enough to ask if he could come to Steve’s place.

Bucky had been able to talk to lots of new people, too. He got to know Natasha a little better, of course, but he also met plenty of other people for the first time, most of whom he’d seen at the dinner party but hadn’t had the chance to introduce himself to. 

Bruce was a sweetheart — several times, he’d dropped off a homemade meal for Bucky in exchange for borrowing a few books. Bucky loved his cooking just as much as he had at the dinner party, and it seemed like there was no end to his talent or the kinds of foods he was willing to make. 

He liked Thor just as much. He was strange, sure, but he liked to talk about his home planet and his brother and all the weird adventures he’d had, and he was  _ never  _ boring. When Bucky was in a bad mood and Steve wasn’t available, Jarvis had started to suggest he talk to Thor instead. 

The other people he’d started talking to were just as colorful as Thor was. There was Sam, who gave great life advice and who could make breakfast to rival Bruce’s cooking, and Clint, who he’d watched kick Steve’s ass in training despite having no supernatural abilities of any kind. Pepper had turned up out of the blue one day. Bucky watched as she persuaded Tony to change into a clean shirt and shave for the first time in over a week, and she got Bucky to tell her about Steve in no time at all. She gave great advice about how to deal with him, too — just like Jarvis. 

He  _ also  _ got to see that weird kid from his dreams again — Peter. He still didn’t know what to make of him, but he seemed nice. They hadn’t talked for long.

He’d started going to therapy again, too, at Jarvis’s insistence. It had been a long time since he’d been, which he regretted. Dr. Stefurak was  _ nice,  _ and although he was still trying to trust her, she  _ helped.  _ She got him used to leaving the Tower, talking to people, and even the possibility of getting a  _ job.  _ It was looking more and more likely that he’d be working for SHIELD, which he had mixed feelings about. 

Settling in at the Tower was getting easier and easier. He still worried when his friends disappeared for days at a time — long business trips were normal in their line of work, or so he’d been told — but he knew they weren’t in any real danger. Someday, he might even be allowed to go with them. It was exciting. 

It was while Steve was on one of these  _ business trips  _ that he received the invitation to Thanksgiving dinner. Bruce brought him lunch and it came with a little note written on cardstock — just the date, the location (the dining room upstairs), and Bruce’s signature. 

He read it while he sat at the kitchen table, his heart sinking into his stomach. 

_ Thanksgiving dinner?  _ Everyone was going to  _ be there.  _ He’d only interacted with one or two people at a time so far — he wasn’t used to being crowded into a room with all of them at once, even if he  _ did  _ know them better now. 

He swallowed hard, turning the little card over in his fingers. What was he supposed to  _ do?  _ What if Steve left early again? He didn’t want to be alone with all those  _ people.  _ If Steve was going at all in the first place. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Jarvis?”

_ Yes?  _

“I… uh… do you know if Steve’s coming to Thanksgiving dinner?” He asked, his heart pounding far too hard in his chest for such a simple question. 

_ I believe so. He’s been invited, and he has no plans for that day. Why? _

“I was just… I was worried,” he said lamely. “I don’t wanna go if he’s not coming. It’ll be awkward. I don’t know anyone.” 

_ You know Bruce. And Thor. Thor will be happy to look after you if Steve can’t make it, don’t worry. There’s also Natasha and Clint. And Pepper. Tony.  _

“Okay, okay.” He did have a point, but Jesus  _ Christ,  _ that was a lot of people. “Thanks.” 

_ He  _ will  _ be coming, though. I’ll make sure.  _

Bucky laughed. Jarvis  _ could  _ be very persuasive when he wanted. “Thanks. Really.” 

_ You should call him, though. It might help to tell him you feel that way.  _

He sighed. “I would, but… I… I dunno, Jarvis. He’s busy right now, isn’t he? And I don’t think it’s such a big deal. Couldn’t you talk to him for me?” 

_ I can, but it would be more effective if you did it instead. He cares about you. He’ll listen to you.  _

Bucky smiled softly. Steve  _ cared  _ about him. It felt nice to hear it out loud, especially from someone as honest as Jarvis. “Thanks.” He didn’t want to give in so easily, but he’d  _ missed  _ Steve while he’d been away. The excuse to hear his voice again wasn’t an easy one to pass up. “Are you  _ sure  _ he’s not busy?” 

_ Of course I am. He is currently sitting in his hotel room, complaining to Agent Romanoff about how much he wants to go home. I think she would appreciate it if you distracted him for her.  _

He laughed. “I will. Thanks, Jarvis. Tell Natasha I said hello if you see her any time soon.” He reached for the phone that sat on his nightstand. He dialed Steve’s number, which he knew by heart by now. 

“Hello?” Said a familiar voice, almost instantly. 

“Hey, Steve.” He leaned back against the pillows, looking up at the ceiling with a soft smile. “How’s your trip?” 

“Exhausting,” he said. “I wanna go  _ home.”  _

Jarvis hadn’t been kidding. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “You’ll be home soon, Stevie. I miss you, y’know.” 

“I miss you, too.” 

Bucky fell silent, basking in the warm glow that Steve’s words conjured up. He felt bad that Steve had to be away from home for so long, of course, but it was nice to be missed. For a moment, he almost forgot altogether why he’d called. 

“What’s going on over there?” Steve asked, breaking the silence, which hadn’t been uncomfortable. 

“Nothing much.” He shrugged. “Bruce is handing out invitations to Thanksgiving dinner. Jarvis said you were invited. Are you going?” 

“Yeah. Of course. I don’t wanna miss out on Bruce’s cooking, Buck. He goes all out on Thanksgiving.” 

“So I’ve heard.”  _ Thank fucking God.  _ He wouldn’t have known what to do if Steve hadn’t decided to go — he hadn’t  _ wanted  _ to skip it. “I’m glad you’re going.” 

“Hey, I’m glad you’re going, too,” he said. “You… you are, aren’t you?” 

“Of course.” Bucky laughed softly. “I don’t wanna miss out on dinner, either. I hear it’s  _ legendary.” _

Jarvis made a little noise that sounded almost like he was clearing his throat. Bucky gestured for him to go away. He was  _ getting  _ to that. He just felt so bad for asking Steve to stay with him the entire time that now he wasn’t so sure he wanted to at all. Jarvis would get onto him if he chickened out, though. 

“It  _ is,”  _ Steve said. “You won’t  _ believe  _ how good it is — it’s just one of those things you have to try for yourself.” 

He nodded, even though he knew Steve couldn’t see him. Tony really needed to invent something that would let the two of them  _ see  _ each other while they did this. 

“Steve...?” He said suddenly, his voice uncharacteristically soft and shy. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re not leaving early again, are you? I mean, it’s okay if you are, but I… I just… I was really nervous last time.” He’d at least like a little  _ warning  _ before Steve left this time. 

“Oh,” Steve said, his voice going very quiet. “Jeez, Buck, I… I wouldn’t do it again. I know how it made you feel last time.” He sighed. “And I’m  _ sorry,  _ okay? Now I know. I won’t leave again.” 

Bucky immediately felt horrible for even asking, but he  _ still  _ felt reassured. “Sorry if I’m… you know. Making you feel bad. And it’s  _ okay  _ if you need to leave. I just wanna know, you know, ahead of time.” He was  _ manipulating  _ Steve. That was what he was doing — it made him a horrible person. 

“I’m not gonna leave,” Steve promised. “I don’t wanna make you anxious. And I don’t like crowds either. I’d be kind of an asshole to subject you to that, huh?” 

He laughed sheepishly. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave early. I mean… they’re a little much individually sometimes.” 

Steve laughed, too. “Hey, if you wanna get out of there, let me know. I’d be happy to help.” 

“Of course.” He was starting to feel better in spite of himself. “Thanks, Stevie. You know I’d do the same for you.” 

* * *

On Thanksgiving Day, most of Bucky’s friends gathered in the lounge to watch football. Jarvis tried to get him to join them, but he was far too nervous. Instead, he stayed inside and read until it was time to get dressed for dinner. 

He was  _ so very excited  _ — it wasn’t often he got to dress up like this, after all, and it wasn’t often he got to see  _ Steve  _ dressed up, either. 

Jarvis had to remind him not to overdress. At last, he chose a decent dress shirt and a jacket with a pretty floral lining, which admittedly delighted him. Steve would like it, too. 

He put his hair up — it was getting awfully long, but he didn’t even  _ think  _ about cutting it. He pulled it up into a loose bun, pulling a few strands loose so that they framed his face. Jarvis hummed his approval. 

At half-past five, there was a knock at the door. He hurriedly went to answer it, knowing exactly who would be on the other side. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said. 

His hair was slicked back from his face, but it had fallen down in places, which made Bucky ache to reach up and fix it. His shirt clung to his arms and his shoulders — he wondered what it would be like to be hugged by those big, strong arms. “H-hey, Stevie,” he said softly. He was  _ staring.  _ He quickly averted his gaze, blushing slightly. 

“You ready to go?” He asked. “Dinner’s gonna start soon.” 

“Yeah, I’m ready.” He stepped outside, closing the door behind him. 

“You nervous?” Steve asked, in an anxious sort of voice. 

“‘Course I am,” Bucky said gloomily. 

“I’m glad I’m not the only one,” Steve said, reaching up to wrap his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, briefly pulling him close. 

When they got up to the dining room, everyone else was already seated and talking while they waited for Thor and Bruce, just like last time. Steve and Bucky hurriedly found their seats. Natasha turned to greet them, as did Sam, but they were largely ignored by everyone else. They were all busy with their own conversations. 

Steve and Bucky sat in comfortable silence for a moment. When Bucky glanced over, he found Steve looking back. Steve looked away, but Bucky could  _ see  _ him blushing. 

_ Why was he blushing?  _

He didn’t have long to wonder, though, because before long, Thor and Bruce were coming in with trays of food and laying them out on the table. Everyone slowly fell silent. The smell of the food was  _ heavenly,  _ and it looked damn near as good as it smelled. 

The two of them took their places at the table. 

Bucky glanced over at Steve, a soft smile on his face.  _ I’m thankful for  _ you, he thought. Steve looked back at him, and the people at the table who could read minds would have known that he was thinking exactly the same thing, but Bucky did not. 


End file.
